


Journeys in Othard

by caffeinatednightowl



Series: Daughter of Dusk [5]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Crushes, F/M, Final Fantasy XIV: Stormblood, Hot Springs & Onsen, Lost Love, One-Sided Attraction, Patch 4.0: Stormblood, Rebellion, Returning Home, Road Trips, Unrequited Crush, Vacation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-21
Updated: 2021-01-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:00:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 30,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28212039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/caffeinatednightowl/pseuds/caffeinatednightowl
Summary: An old, stained, stiff pamphlet, lost under a floorboard in some forgotten Gyr Abania ghost town, from a tine more than twenty years past,Its illustrations faded and browned, but the message as readable as ever, written in a pleasing, flowing script, “Travel to the Exotic East! Journeys in Othard Await!”An account of Mara Kahkol's return to the East. No matter how far away she goes, she can't stop seeing ruby eyes around every corner...Takes place during Stormblood.
Relationships: G'raha Tia | Crystal Exarch/Warrior of Light, Hien Rijin & Warrior of Light, Hien Rijin/Warrior of Light, Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Original Character(s)
Series: Daughter of Dusk [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2024647
Comments: 12
Kudos: 36





	1. Kugane

**Author's Note:**

> This work will be shorter chapters than my usual fics; scenes from Mara's time in Othard during Stormblood timeline. While events that happened in [The Weathered Grimoire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687034/chapters/67756291) and [From the East](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908905) are mentioned, they are not required reading.

_An old, stained, stiff pamphlet, lost under a floorboard in some forgotten Gyr Abania ghost town, from a tine more than twenty years past,_

_Its illustrations faded and browned, but the message as readable as ever, written in a pleasing, flowing script,_

_“Travel to the Exotic East! Journeys in Othard Await!”_

_The first page, a sprawling cityscape made of wooden beams, curved roofs—_

_“Lovely Kugane, the pride of Hingashi, a port welcome to all, where trade and gossip rule the day…”_

~~~~~

“So this…is Kugane?”

Her companions sucked in a breath as they stepped onto the pier, mouths wide in awe as they gazed up at the city of lacquered wood and shining white stone. A city smelling of salt air, eastern spices, rice paper. A city of silk robes and folded steel swords and glowing, paper lanterns. The crown jewel of the east, staring out in a challenge to all that would threaten her supremacy.

“It is…bigger than I imagined,” said Alisaie, taking it all in.

“Indeed,” Alphinaud said, staring up at the towering Shiokaze Hostelry. “I had heard the tales, but scarcely imagined—”

“Out of the way, you!” A burly Roegadyn yelled, rushing past with a cart full of fresh fish, Alphinaud toppling to the side, out of the way. Alisaie laughed at him as he sprawled down on the pier, flustered as more dock workers rushed to and fro with their carts of wares.

Mara stepped forward, smile on her face. “Watch your step,” she said, chuckling. “Kugane is very busy city.”

“I suppose you would know,” said Lyse, walking up next to her. “So, if we need to get to Doma, where do we start?”

Mara looked back down the pier, her dark violet eyes narrowing. “To get to Doma, need to cross the Ruby Sea. And to do that, we need to pay Ruby Tithe.”

“The ‘Ruby Tithe,’” Alisaie mused, helping Alphinaud up. “However are we going to pay for that?”

Tataru came up next to them, chuckling. “Oh, don’t you worry about that, we’ll think of something!”

“What exactly would you have in mind, Tataru?” Lyse asked, looking at the Lalafell skeptically. “From what I understand, it probably cost more than the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have in their coffers—”

“I have a few tricks up my sleeve, nothing ol’ Tataru can’t handle—” The secretary grinned, pointing toward the Shiokaze Hostelry tower. “That is a tavern, is it not? We can start there, scope out some information—”

Mara sighed, rolling her eyes. She _knew_ it would be like this. “I don’t think you are of understanding,” She said, kneeling down before Tataru. “The Ruby Tithe is not something that can be made up in few hours—”

“Ah, hello there!” A forced, cheerful voice called out. While cheerful voices weren’t uncommon in Kugane, they _were_ uncommon when they were speaking in Eorzean. Mara turned toward the Hostelry—a blond man in rose-colored spectacles, wearing a smile that reminded Mara of a fox, came toward them with open arms. “Ah, The Scions of the Seventh Dawn, correct? You are come precisely when I expected; that is good, for all the preparations have been made.”

Mara slowly rose to her feet, her eyes narrowed, regarding the man with suspicion. “And…you are?” asked Alisaie, hand on her hip.

“Ah, my apologies, I should have said,” He said, smiling wider than Mara thought possible. Giving an Eastern bow, he said, “My name is Hancock, of the East Aldenard Trading Company, at your service! On behalf of Chairman Lolorito, I bid you welcome to Kugane, and invite you to take refreshments at our local offices.”

Alphinaud blinked, “Lolorito? I was not aware his interests extended beyond the borders of Eorzea—”

Mara cut him off, marching in front of Alphinaud towards this stranger who treated them so friendly. “No,” she snapped, pointing a finger in his face. “No, we do not _want_ anything to do with Lolorito! I have enough of Ul’dah Syndicate for a lifetime!” Her eyes narrowed—images of the Bloody Banquet flashed before her eyes.

“My, such naked suspicious!” Hancock said, not even losing his smile. “Would you be willing to listen if I offered you a gesture of goodwill?”

Before Mara could throw his offer back in his face—(and she _dearly_ wanted to) Alphinaud took back his command of the conversation. “And _what,_ pray I ask, is this gesture of goodwill?”

_~~~~~_

…It turned out to be a decent gesture of goodwill, Mara would grant him that.

While they mulled over Hancock—and by extension, _Lord Lolorito_ ’s offer of aid while in Kugane, Hancock purchased for them the finest rooms in Kugane’s Bokairo Inn. Mara had only heard about it in passing while she had been in Kugane the first time, around two years ago. With native hot springs, perched right on the Kugane cliffs for a spectacular view of the ocean while one bathed, even Mara had to admit it was a decent offer. And after days at sea, having to bunk in close quarters…well, the prospect of a decent night’s sleep in a clean bed after lazing away the afternoon in hot springs did do much to quell one’s suspicions…for a little bit.

Lounging about in their smalls and breast-bands (they had not thought to pack swimsuits, for this was not supposed to be a trip of leisure) Mara, Alisaie, and Lyse sat in the hot spring, taking in the warm waters. “If Lord Lolorito keeps it up with these ‘gestures,’ I might be inclined to hear him out…within reason,” said Lyse, stretching and leaning back in the hot spring.

Mara rolled her eyes as she finger-combed out her long, midnight blue hair. Her hair had grown much since she was last in Kugane, she mused; before, it had barely fit into a ponytail, and now, when let out of her ponytail, it was creeping down towards her waist. “I still can not trust one such as him. I do not forget what happen in Ul’dah.”

“Oh, let us not think of that right now,” Alisaie said, yawning as she glanced out towards the sea beyond. “For now, we should relax; this is heavenly.” Leaning towards Mara, she asked, “You were in Kugane before, weren’t you? Did you visit this place back then?”

Mara sighed, shaking her head. “I had no money back then; had to sell everything I owned just to get ticket across to Eorzea.” Her hand flew towards her breastbone, where her mother’s necklace had once lay. She wondered where it was now; kept safe by some merchant’s wife, or perhaps around a geisha’s neck? Wherever it was, Mara was certain she would never see it again.

“Oh, so you don’t have any tourist tips, what a pity,” Lyse chuckled, Mara unsure if she was joking or not. “Though speaking of ‘tourist tips’ I did wonder something; a lot of people speak Eorzean, do they not? The innkeeper did.”

Mara nodded, “Kugane is trading city; of course many merchants and others speak it. Most people here speak Hingan, a few Doman. But outside of Kugane, the rest of Othard, you will not find many who speak the Eorzean language.”

“It appears you will have to be our translator then, Mara,” said Alisaie, “Unless there is some way I can learn Hingan overnight.”

Mara made a face. “I had figured. At least if we find Yugiri, she can help.”

“You know, I wonder about that,” Lyse leaned forward, her unbound blonde hair spilling around her, floating about in the steamy waters. “Doesn’t the echo give you the ability to understand all languages?”

Mara blinked, confused; “Yes, I can understand beast tribes, but—”

“Then how come you still need to do all that translating for all of the languages? Shouldn’t you just know them?”

Mara sighed, raising her hands in a shrug. “I am not sure. The echo—Hydaelyn’s blessing—I received that when I came to Eorzea. I learned Hingan, Doman, and Eorzean before that. Echo is…it is hard to explain, but I speak Xaellic, and yet can understand others, and they can understand me. But when speaking those languages, I speak them as a normal person would.” She shrugged again. “Perhaps I am too used to translating to rely on Hydaelyn’s blessing for it. I prefer it, I think—I don’t like relying on it if I can.”

“It works out either way,” Alisaie piped up with a smile. “Besides, you are much better at Eorzean now than when we first met.”

Mara blinked, shaking the droplets of water out of her hair. “Am I?”

“Oh yes,” said Lyse, grinning. “In fact, I would say you are starting to get a bit of an Eorzean accent, too. Remember when you first met the Scions, you couldn’t even pronounce Alphinaud’s name, remember?”

Alisaie _cackled_ , near tackling Mara in laugher. “ _Yes!_ That was brilliant, my poor brother didn’t know what to do with himself as you stumbled over his name over and over again—”

Mara flushed up, feeling the urge to duck under the waters. She had always been sensitive about her accent, _knowing_ she still flubbed the language despite all her practice. “I mean, I didn’t—His name is _hard_ to pronounce for one not used to it!”

Lyse giggled, but gave her an encouraging pat on the back. “Oh, we’re just teasing, Mara! A few more years in Eorzea, and no one will ever know you are not a native speaker. Even without the blessing of light, you seem like you’ve always had a gift for languages.”

Mara glanced away, looking back out to the sea. “I suppose,” she mused, drawing her knees up to her chest. If nothing else, this trip would be a chance to practice her Hingan and Doman, the only practice she had was with Yugiri or some of the Doman refugees back in Eorzea, and the time spent with them was few and far between. Truth be told, she liked speaking multiple languages, switching from one to the other; there was a beauty in it, in the flow of it.

Perhaps even more than that; learning those languages was something she had done by herself, on her own. Much like learning the way of the Allagan summoner—she had chartered her own path, and had practiced and practiced until she mastered it; it was something she had done without Hydaelyn, without her blessing. Something she could take pride in; had not been given to her.

This journey to Othard—at first, she was not sure if she had wanted to go. Mara understood the necessity of it, but…so many old memories, bad memories were still buried in this place. She would try to avoid them, but could she avoid _all_ of them? She had thought she might never come back here when she first set foot on that ship that would carry her to Eorzea and yet here she was now.

 _At least we will not go to the Steppe_ , She thought, sinking into the warm, misty waters. _This is just Scion business, nothing more._

And more importantly…she glanced back to Alisaie and Lyse, who were now shrieking with laughter as she splashed each other with the hot spring waters.

This was _certainly_ not a vacation!


	2. The Ruby Sea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Once more, to the Ruby Sea...

_To the Ruby Sea! Its clear waters shimmer and sparkle with a thousand colored corals, a paradise on this earth unmatched by any other locale…_

_~~~~~_

If there was one thing Mara knew would not have changed, it would’ve been the Confederacy.

The Ruby Sea shone before them in the dawn, the waters rippling calmly at the dock as they arrived at the very edge of Hingan Territory. Lyse and Alisaie stared in awe at the sea, the image like a painting from a book—clear skies above, shining waters below. At the shore, they could see the rainbow of coral growing up against the shoals, the tropical fish darting to and fro, unaware of the visitors that had arrived.

While Lyse looked here and there, taking it all in, Alisaie put a hand on her hip, saying matter-of-factly, “It doesn’t look _that_ different from Costa del Sol.”

“Does Costa del Sol have volcano?” said Mara, gesturing towards the smoking, bubbling Hell’s Lid in the distance.

“Er…no.” Alisaie conceded.

As they were surveying the landscape, Soroban and Gosetsu came up beside them, looking out at the waves as they lapped the shore of the dock. “This is my home, and a more beautiful place I could not possibly imagine,” the kojin said, proudly. “But be wary, travelers. These waters hide many dangers. Red Kojin prowl these waters, not to mention the Confederates. Treat with them and pay the toll, and they will pay you no mind. Spurn their offer, and you may find yourself at the bottom of the Ruby Sea.” At first, Mara had been surprised at a kojin approaching them in Kugane, speaking perfect Eorzean. But the Blue Kojin wanted for trading opportunities, much like the Kahkol as she had known them. At least it was one less person she would have to translate for; only a day or two in Kugane and she was already getting tired of it.

“Not to mention Imperials, but who’s counting them?” said Lyse, leaning out with a hand over her eyes. “What do you think that is?” she asked, pointing to the large tower in the distance.

“That would be Heaven-on-High,” answered Soroban. “It is a sacred place, and the Confederacy guard it closely. But you wish to head for Doma proper, yes? That land is controlled by the Confederacy itself.”

“Might as well get started, then,” said Alisaie. “I wonder…oh.” She turned her head as a man walked up to them, dressed in fine, if gaudy silks. “Welcome, travelers!” He said in heavy-accented Eorzean. Despite the trappings of a merchant, Mara noted the sharp katana at the man’s side. “You seek passage through Ruby Sea, yes? I am messenger of Confederacy, allow me to—”

Before he could say another word, Mara marched between them, eyes narrowed. “We won’t speak to _you_ ,” she said, in perfect Hingan. “Show us to your leader; we will negotiate with _him_ and _him_ only.” The Ruby Tithe was said to be expensive, but she knew it would certainly be more if they took them for outsiders.

The smile on the man’s face fell. “Our master is very busy,” he replied back in Hingan. “Now if you will allow me to—”

“You want the Ruby Tithe from us?” Mara stood up taller; pity she was so short. “Then _show us to him._ ”

The man froze in place, glancing away in thought. “Fine,” he said, pointing toward the small island a little ways in the distance. “You will find him there.”

It wasn’t _too_ far away from their current location, but… “Do you have a boat we can borrow?” asked Mara.

“Boat’s only for those that already paid their Tithe,” he sneered, walking away. Mara sighed; well, she might’ve expected that…

Turning back to Alisaie and Lyse, she translated for them. Despite the lack of boat, Lyse didn’t seem one bit put out. “Oh, that’s not far at all; come on!” Without another word, she _leapt_ off the dock into the water, the splash so loud that several of the Confederates were startled and drew their weapons.

Mara looked over the edge of the dock as Lyse emerged, shaking her head, sending droplets of water everywhere. “Look, it’s not far at all, are you coming?”

Alisaie rolled her eyes. “I suppose Lyse is right; not much more to do than swim.” And to Mara’s horror, now Alisaie dove right in.

Glancing back to Soroban and Gosetsu, Mara managed to get out a hurried, “Sorry, I guess we’ll take care of this ourselves?” in Doman. But as she approached the edge of the dock, she hesitated.

She wasn’t afraid of water, no, she had swam in the Nem Khaal river since she was a child. She has just never swam in water that…uh… _deep_ before. She figured it wasn’t too different, but still… Also there was the matter of—

“Are you coming, Mara?” Alisiae said from below, floating on her back as if it was the easiest thing in the world. “Lyse is already halfway there, I’m sure.”

“Yes I coming,” she said, too ruffled to correct her Eorzean as she said it. Glancing down at her attire, Mara lifted up her skirts—she had taken to the new Ishgardian fashions, brown satin pinstripe skirts, short in front and long in the back, with soft linen sleeves and warm thigh-high tights—they had caught on among Ishgards engineer class, and while they were sturdy enough for to travel, Mara didn’t exactly want to get them _wet._

But if she didn’t take to the challenge, Alisaie was _never_ going to let her live it down. Grimacing as she took her skirt in hand, Mara plunged into the sea.

It was _cold._

Mara broke the surface, coughing and sputtering, her wet ponytail sticking to her slick skin like a slimy eel. Her skirt that she had been so proud of bubbled up around her, causing Alisaie to snicker as Mara had to fight it to swim towards her.

“Come on,” said Alisaie, stifling another grin. “Perhaps they’ll be impressed the lengths we’ll go to talk to them.”

_~~~~~_

They were _not_ , in fact, impressed.

As Mara climbed up on the beach, squeezing seawater from her (hopefully, not ruined) skirts, several confederates eyed them suspiciously. “I see someone didn’t want to pay the Tithe,” one of the confederates snickered; Mara shot him a glare.

“We wish to speak to your leader,” she commanded, glaring at all of them as if they were unworthy of her gaze. “We were told he is here; is that correct?”

“Yes, but he’s not going to—”

“Did I _ask_ you?” she snapped, stepping forward, her skirt sloshing in a way that was _wholly_ unpleasant. “Where is he?”

The Confederates glanced among one another; for who was this sopping wet woman to order them around? But, seemingly not knowing what else to do, they pointed up to the top of the wooden structure on Sakazuki. “Thank you,” Mara said, hint of ice in her words.

She turned back to Alisaie and Lyse. “Come on,” she said in Eorzean. “They’re up there.”

“What did you say to them?” asked Lyse. “It sounds like you’re giving them a proper scolding, like a teacher to a schoolboy.”

Mara’s expression darkened as they made their way up the stairs. “I had dealings with Confederates before,” was all she said.

She had expected some manner of confederate leader. Perhaps a man gone fat and soft of years of preying on simple merchant ships, covered in fine silks and golden chains. Or a gruff, fierce fighter, laden with scars and calloused hands through years of combat.

What she did not expect, was to recognize them.

“And who are you?” The man asked, an Eastern Hyur, with dark hair with a purplish tint, pulled back into a braid.

A ripple of long-forgotten fear came upon her as Mara remembered that day, years ago, begging to be allowed to cross over to Kugane. She could remember the way his eyes looked at her, judging her like she was meat in a market stall, before backing her into a corner and demanding that if she wanted to cross, she’d have to pay the toll with her body.

He hadn’t meant it, of course; just a test to her resolve. He let her go quickly after realizing she wouldn’t back down. But she had never forgotten the panic she had for those few moments, realizing what it might cost to get all the way to Eorzea.

“They…they wanted to speak to you, Tansui,” one of the Confederates said to him. “About the toll.”

“What’s there to say?” He rolled his eyes. “You pay the Tithe, you get to cross in peace. You don’t, and we cannot guarantee your safety.”

“We’re trying to get to Doma,” said Mara, making sure not to turn away from his gaze. He may not remember her, but she damn well remembered him. “To meet up with the Doman Liberation Front. As for the Tithe—”

Tansui rolled his eyes. “Spare me your hopeful thoughts of rebellion and throwing off the Empire’s yoke, it won’t help you here. We trade in coin, not promises.”

“Fine, then we’ll talk business,” sad Mara, throwing on the mask of a practiced merchant. “We give you our price and you tell us how close to Doma that will get us.”

“We don’t haggle, either.” He walked past her, looking out to the Ruby Sea. “We’re not running a charity, or a ferry service. The Ruby Sea is _our_ domain. If you wish to trespass, then you do it on _our_ terms, and _our_ schedule.”

“I can’t imagine the Imperials are so quick to agree to your demands,” said Mara, squeezing out some more water from her skirt as if it was an unimportant quip…but when Tansui’s hand tensed on the wooden railing, she knew she had touched a nerve.

“You should be less concerned about the Imperials and more about yourselves,” he snapped, turning back. “If you have no means to pay the Tithe—”

“We _have_ means,” Mara cut in. “But no ship to get us across. Even so, perhaps we can strike a deal—how much would it be worth to you if we were to take care of your Imperial problem?”

Tansui stared at her, blinked. Then leaned his head back and laughed. “ _You_? ‘Take care of the Imperials?’ I haven’t heard a funnier joke since Rasho told me the one about the fisherman and his wife a while back—”

“If we were to get rid of the Imperials for you, would you consider our Tithe paid?” Mara demanded. “How much does _that_ get us?”

He stared. “You’re serious. You can’t possibly be…” He glanced back out to the sea—another Imperial vessel was snaking along, puffing out black smoke in the distance. “I need to speak with the others. You have leave of the Island, but don’t you dare move out until we’ve made up our mind.” With a wave of his hand, he dismissed them.

Mara sighed. Well, it could’ve gone a lot worse.

As soon as he was gone, Alisaie and Lyse ran up to her, eyes wide and staring. “What did _he_ say? What did _you_ say?”

Mara thought a moment…she was tempted to tell her of the request Tansui made last time she was here, _“Pay the toll with your body._ ” Actually, the idea of playing it off like that was Tansui’s request and watching Alisaie try to flay the man alive was _very tempting indeed_ , but she held off. “We have to wait,” she said, sighing. “But I do not think it take long.”

“Well, at least we have that,” said Lyse, sighing. “Come on, might as well rest along the beach while we’re here.”

Mara followed along, sitting on the white sands of the Sakazuki beach and taking in the beautiful day. Soon after, Soroban and Gosetsu came across (“They let you get the boat?” Mara had asked in Doman, dumbfounded. “It turns out if you don’t insult them, they’re quite amiable people,” Gosetsu had said with a smile). Explaining the situation, Soroban and Gosetsu also decided to wait. Mara watched from the beach as Lyse and Alisaie sparred, and Soroban struck up conversation with some of the Confederates, but Gosetsu came to sit next to her, watching the waves lap the shore.

They sat in silence for a while, before Mara turned back to the samurai. In Doman, she asked, “You are anxious to get back to Doma, are you not?”

The old samurai shrugged. “It is my home; they are my people. Of course I am.”

“Funny I never…I never felt the same way about my home…I could not wait to leave.”

“Ah yes,” said Gosetsu. “I have heard stories of the Steppe. I have never been myself, however.”

“Perhaps if my homeland was invaded by the Garleans I might…but for now, we are free.” Mara sat up, hugging her knees to her chest. “Maybe this isn’t my place to ask, but…All this time that Doma has been under Imperial control…I don’t know how you managed to do it. Keep hope, I mean. Keep on fighting. I see a rebellious spirit in Ala Mhigo, I can see it in you and Yugiri, but…it’s been a long, long time. How did you manage? To…to keep on believing after so long?”

Gosetsu turned away from her, looking back to the Ruby Sea, the sun sending off golden rays onto the waves far into the distance. For a moment, Mara thought he wouldn’t answer; that he would keep it to himself. But then he began, speaking slowly, “Have you ever lost someone? Someone you cared about deeply?”

_A flash of crimson hair disappearing behind thick, closed doors. Light blue hair and a smile, always a smile, being obliterated by a spear of sharpest light._

Mara looked down at her hands. “Yes…”

“Then you know the pain of it; how you want to stop, just end it all. The hardest thing to do was move on, put one foot in front of the other, and keep going. The Imperials…they took someone from me. So despite the pain, I keep going, keep striving for a day when I will see Doma free, so I can honor them. So I will never forget them.” He paused, clarifying, “I do it _for_ them.”

Do it _for_ them…it sounded a lot like…

 _“That is why I carry on, despite seeing so many die under my command,_ ” Haurchefant had said, that night in the cold Camp Dragonhead office, as they waited to hear if their petition for entrance to Ishgard would be granted. _“I live my life the way they would want, and try to make them proud.”_

 _“Your destiny is to continue on, create a future where hope reigns and the tragedies of the past are but memories.”_ G’raha Tia said to her, those beautiful ruby eyes fighting back emotions the doors of the tower stood heavy, ready to close between them. _“I know your tales, your heroism will be the star that shall chart my course when I awake.”_

When Gosetsu turned back to her, Mara said with a smile. “We will see Doma liberated Gosetsu, I swear it.”

He met her smile. “I hope so. I have long prayed to the kami for such a thing. Though, I believe the kami sent you. For if anyone can do it, it is the Warrior of Light. But as for now…” He turned back, seeing a group of confederates, led by Tansui, approach. “Let us see how easy or hard this first step will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	3. Yanxia

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A first step into Doma.

_Yanxia, a land of great plains, and tall towering rocky hills. Of forests of bamboo and deep, flowing rivers. Morning fog hides her many secrets, and in midday when the mists recede, one can see the great, towering Doma Castle beyond…_

_~~~~~_

It was a relief that Yanxia was doing as well as Mara remembered.

For she remembered the fear in her people’s eyes when the Imperials came, the edged threats the Imperials made. How mothers would hide their children, husbands hide their brides. Doma was a people ruled by dread, and dread would be a hard thing to sweep away.

Now that the business in Isari had been concluded and the Ruby Tithe considered paid, it was time to move on to Doma proper. Gosetsu’s eyes near sparkled as they crossed over, looking upon his homeland for the first time in many moons.

“There should be village nearby,” said Mara as she led the way through the thick grass south of the ruby sea. “A village built with many terraces, growing rice.”

“Namai. I think close.” Said Gosetsu in his heavily-accented Eorzean. Truth be told, Mara was surprised he even spoke it; when she asked him how he learned, he merely shrugged and replied that he wanted to learn after coming to find Yugiri in Eorzea, and so he did. Though he rarely spoke it at all; Mara figured he was content to listen to conversation in that language rather than add to it.

“What sort of village is Namai?” Alisaie asked, brushing aside another clump of tall bamboo with her rapier. “Do you think they will be willing to help us?”

Mara remembered that fear in their eyes, the way they had bid her to hide as the imperials approached. “I do not know.” But she doubted it.

But as they got closer, it was clear that Namai wasn’t the same at all. They people looked at them in fear; especially when they saw Gosetsu, towering overhead. They were quiet, not at all open and talkative like they had seen them before. People spoke in hushed whispers, fleeing back to the security of their homes as they approached, fearful of the strangers as they were fearful of the Garleans.

“Well, that’s a warm welcome,” said Alisaie, noting how many doors quickly slammed shut as they walked into the village.

“My countrymen, whatever is the matter?” Gosetsu said in Doman, in that loud, booming voice of his. “Where is the hospitality I know Doma for?”

If possible, even more people fled now, the only ones left watching them in almost fear. The silence was broken when a man approached. “Who are _you_?” He demanded. The man was tall, well built, dark eyes narrowing before strong brow. Mara remembered him; the village leader, the one who had welcomed her years ago.

“It’s you,” she said, stepping forward. “Do you not remember me? I have returned—You once showed me great hospitality and comfort on my journey West. I hope—I _pray_ this is not a bad time?”

He turned to her, eyes narrowing further—and then widened upon realization. “The Xaela woman? The one who sought to cross the Ruby Sea?”

Mara smiled, nodding. “Yes, I have come back now. Now I come with strength from the West. We come to—we come to free Doma.”

There was silence after her words. Sighing, he turned, looking away. “You have come for a fool’s errand. Doma will never again be free.” He turned on his heel, his shoulders lowering, and walked away.

Mara glanced back at her companions—Alisaie and Lyse looked confused, but concerned—and without another word, Mara followed them. Perhaps Gosetsu would attempt to translate but well, it didn’t matter right now.

“What do you mean?” Mara asked as she followed him, her ruffled (slightly wrinkled from their previous Ruby Sea escapade) Ishgardian skirt flowing behind her. He walked from the village square, toward the rice paddies, the muddy water reflecting the clouded sky above. “The Empire is caught suppressing a rebellion in Ala Mhigo! It would be the perfect time to strike here—”

“The empire is stronger than you think!” He snapped, turning back to face her. “Trust me, rebellion has been tried. But they broke it. They broke _us._ Why do you think we cooperate when they come to us with their ever-increasing demands? We’ve seen what they will do in retribution! Now, we want no more part in this! We’re just trying to live our lives, to survive!”

Mara was stunned, staring as he got the words out, pained as they were. “But…don’t you wish for freedom?” The people of Ala Mhigo kept their wish. Even if they could not openly support the Resistance, they still kept their faith in their hearts.

The headman’s eyes were downcast. “Wishing…is an entirely different thing from doing what is smart. Whether we wish it or not, we’re just trying to keep our heads covered, our bellies full.”

This would be a lot harder than she imagined.

After another silence, Mara looked around. Something had been missing, ever since she first walked into the village. Something important… “Where’s Shinta?”

The man gave a small, pained sound. “They…they took him.”

Mara gasped.

“They said they needed more laborers—Shinta wasn’t old enough to send to the front, I thank the kami for that, but now—now he slaves away in Castrum Fulminis, all just to keep me in line.” Mara could hear the waver in his voice, the tremble he held back. “I asked them—begged them—to take me instead but they would not—and I could not stop them. Now I only…I can only do what the Imperials want, for my son’s safety.”

He composed himself, shutting his eyes tight, before staring back at her with a hard gaze. “That is why you must leave here, at once. I cannot…I cannot risk _my son._ ”

Mara nodded. “I understand…but we will continue the fight.” She swallowed. “We will get Shinta back for you, I swear it.”

“I pray to the kami every night…I do not know if you can grant this wish, but…” He trailed off, turning away. “There is an old Doman rebellion base hidden in caves to the north, the Imperials do not yet know about it…perhaps you will find more of what you seek there.”

“Thank you,” Mara started turning away.

“And…” She stopped. “Before you leave, you may want to check the stables…an old friend waits for you.”

_~~~~~_

Mara held her breath as she walked into the Namai stables. The others had already set out for the base, called “The House of the Fierce” by Gosetsu, but she asked to remain behind for this, this one thing…

There she was. In a stall at the end, her beautiful black mane hanging down, shimmering in the dim light. She was well taken care of, looked good and fed, and happy…

Or at least, Mara hoped so.

Approaching the horse, Mara kept her hands up, cautious. “Easy,” she spoke in Xaellic, as the horse spotted her, turned to her. “Do you remember me?”

The horse gave a little snort. Leaning forward, it sniffed—sniffed her ponytail, her face. Then with a little whinny, the dark eyes seemed to brighten.

“Dusk!” Mara spoke her old name in Xaellic, tears in her eyes, reaching out to pat the mare. “I have missed you!” The horse nuzzled into her touch, the feeling almost mutual. “Have you been good? Are they treating you well?” She patted her down, remember the feel as she would brush her out, comb her mane after long rides. “I am sure farm work is different than riding on the Steppe, but I am glad they are taking care of you.”

She continued on, “Eorzea is a strange place. They do not have horses there at all! They have these horsebirds, they are more suited for the rocky, hilly terrain. I have one of my own now, I also named her ‘Dusk’ but, well, the word in Eorzean. They only have one word for ‘dusk’ in Eorzean, can you imagine!” Mara laughed, pressing her head to the mare’s in a soft bunt. “I’m so happy I could see you again, old friend. But I heard what has happened here. They took the boy, Shinta, didn’t they? Was he learning to ride on you? Perhaps he was the one that fed you, brushed you out all this time?” Dusk seemed to almost nod in assent. “Don’t worry. We will get him back, I promise. We will get him back, this new family of yours. And then you can live happily once more.”

_~~~~~_

Mara had heard that the Doman resistance was small. But it was tiny in comparison to the number that had joined the Ala Mhigan resistance. The House of the Fierce was nearly empty, with hardly any weapons or food stocked up. Its aetheryte lay useless, broken; broken as the rebellion had been, and slow to recover.

How could they hope to throw off the empire with _this?_

Still, it was not a total loss. Alisaie and Lyse were happy as they spotted Yugiri among the crowd. They seemed pleased to see her, a familiar face—not to mention there was finally someone else who could speak their language. Still, Yugiri did have some more tidings other than pleasantries.

“I have news, Gosetsu,” she spoke to him in Doman. “I have found our master.”

“Truly!” He gasped, smile growing on his face. “Kami be praised, Lord Hien lives!”

Yugiri glanced back at Alisaie and Lyse, as if forgetting there was still a language barrier here. “Lord Hien is son of Lord Kaien, who led rebellion before,” she explained quickly. “I have searched for him, and I found him.”

“Where?” asked Lyse, eyes wide. “We need him to continue our work here, yes?”

Yugiri nodded. “I believe so.”

“Well, let’s go find him!” Lyse smiled. “Where is he?”

“In hiding, for now. He waits on the Azim Steppe.”

Those words rang through Mara like a lightning bolt.

_The Azim Steppe…_

_Rolling planes, a sea of grass…the Dusk Throne rising high, dominating the horizon. Hidden caves and towering cliffs gave a view of the expanse, the beautiful land that Nhaama had gifted to her children._

But to return to her homeland would mean…

“Oh, that’s where you’re from, isn’t it, Mara?” Alisaie asked, oblivious to her distress.

“Yes,” Mara sighed.

“Won’t it be nice? It would be like a little homecoming for you!”

Mara swallowed the lump in her throat. She remembered the cold gaze the village wise woman had given as Mara spurned her kindness—the anguish in Ambagai’s eyes as he confessed his heart, and she rejected it…the thundering hooves of the Dotharl’s horses, their shrieking laughter, and the knowledge that they would come back, they would _always_ come back, and she would not be around to save them this time—

“We…we would not have time,” Mara turned away quickly. She hoped they wouldn’t notice her Eorzean failing her now—every time she was in distress, it became harder to speak. “Focus finding Lord Hien, yes? No time!”

“Mara, wait—” Lyse called after her as Mara walked towards the entrance of the House of the Fierce, but she heard Alisaie shush her. Let them think what they want. It didn’t change the fact that…

She sat in the entrance of the cave, looking out at gorgeous Yanxia. Gosetsu had said this place was called “The Valley of the Fallen Rainbow” and it was easy to see why—great white crystals glowed under a clear sky, with colorful pools of terraced water sparkling behind. Great, towering rocks rose up, twisted and gnarled with vines, something that would be so alien to anyone first coming from the flat, vast Steppe. Indeed, Yanxia had been alien to her at first, with its bamboo forests and dominating rocky hills. But now, the place somehow gave off a similar feeling, like something she would’ve seen in Eorzea…

At this point, Eorzea felt more like home to her than the Steppe.

Her horns picked up the sounds of someone walking, Mara turned; Yugiri came up beside her, an unsure look on the Raen’s face. “Were you sent by the others?” Mara asked in Doman.

“I was not,” said Yugiri, sitting down next to her, her white tail curling up behind her elegantly.

They were quiet for a while, the only two Au Ra on this journey, as they stared out at the scenery. “You know,” stared Yugiri, “At first, I was afraid of what it would be like to come back to Doma. It has faced much in these last years. And when I came to Eorzea, I did not come willingly. Lord Hien had begged me to take his people to safety. I wanted to stay, wanted to fight by his side, but he would not hear of it—his people came first. For him, they always came first.”

“He sounds like a good master,” said Mara, wondering what sort of man Hien would be like in the flesh.

“He is, he cares so much for Doma. He told me…” Yugiri paused. “That while he wanted to fight for her freedom, the needs of Doma’s people come first. If they want to fight, he shall lead them, but if not, if they wish for no more fighting and to live peacefully, albeit under the empire, then…” She paused another moment. “Then he would offer the Imperials his head in return.”

Mara said nothing to that, just stared as Yugiri looked around them, continuing, “The failed rebellion…we were forced to watch as much of our homeland was destroyed. All the while, as I was escaping, I wondered if there wasn’t something I could’ve done, something _better_ , to have spared Doma of that. If I had fought harder, could we have succeeded? Could I have saved one more life? Such things have weighed heavily on me, and I carried them with me, always. I carried them back here, back to speak to my lord, and I carry them with me now. But that does not mean I do not love my homeland.”

Now Mara spoke up, “Your homeland is Sui no Sato, right?” Yugiri turned to her, staring. “Sorry…we went there while at the Ruby Sea. We met—we met your parents. They were happy to know you were doing well.”

Yugiri closed her eyes, sighing. “Yes, it is true, I was born in Sui no Sato but…I have served Doma for a long time; it has become my homeland now.” She turned back to Mara. “Perhaps the example of Sui no Sato is more applicable then?”

“I suppose,” Mara mused. “There were many…many things I regret about how I left the Steppe. And many things I fear I might find if I go back.”

“You don’t have to come with us,” Yugiri offered. “You can stay here, in the House of the Fierce instead—”

“No,” Mara shook her head, her midnight blue ponytail swinging from side to side. “I cannot. I promised I would see this through—and I will. If that means going to the Steppe once more—than so be it.”

After a moment, Yugiri smiled. “I cannot lie that I am glad that you will come with us. But you should remember; you are not alone. If you have something you would—you would talk on, we will gladly listen. The ‘Warrior of Light’ is a heavy burden, but you need not carry that weight all by yourself.”

Mara smiled, even if she did not fully agree. The ‘Warrior of Light’ was her burden to bear, hers alone. And more than that, every time she opened up to someone about this burden… _A flash of crimson hair, behind closing doors, light blue hair and a smile, always a smile, blown away by that spear of light_ …it never ended well.

It was best to keep those burdens locked away, only for herself.

“And besides,” Yugiri chuckled. “Perhaps we should talk more often than we do. For who else can we call upon when we need the perfect lotion for dry scales?”

Mara finally cracked a laugh at that, her tail waving slightly in amusement. And so they talked of other things, Yugiri telling some tales of her life as a Raen in Sui no Sato and Mara sharing a few, _carefully_ picked ones of her own about life in the Steppe. And even when the clouds turned, and soft rain began to fall, The Valley of the Fallen rainbow still sparkled in the dim light; for no matter what it faced, the beauty of Doma would endure.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


	4. Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At last, Mara Kahkol has come home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While much of this story references [From the East](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27908905), a LOT of this chapter references [The Weathered Grimoire](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27687034/chapters/67756291). While it is not required reading, it does flesh out some of the characters mentioned a little bit.

_The beautiful, vast Azim Steppe; what more can be said of such perfect, wide open country? The Xaela live in their tribes, each with their own customs, though all meet in peace at their southern trading hub, Reunion…_

~~~~~

A gentle wind blew the unending grasses of the Steppe as Mara Kahkol took her first step back into her homeland. The flat, endless plains stretched out before her, an immense, green ocean. Far off in the distance, she could see the rising smoke of tribal settlements, perhaps the drab smudge on the horizon of an Iloh or two, and far in the distance, the rising monolith of the Dawn Throne, towering over the Steppe like her protector; her warden. She could taste it on the wind, smell it in the air, the familiarity, settling down on her shoulders like a warm blanket, long forgotten.

For Nhaama welcomed her child home.

Glancing back to her companions as they crossed the border from Yanxia, they stared in awe at the vastness, the emptiness. Gosetsu stopped in place, leading on the horses the House of the Fierce had lent them for this part of the journey, staring in awe. “Kami preserve,” he said in Doman. “I did not imagine it would be this… _big._ ”

Despite the unease in her heart, Mara did manage to smile back. “This is just a small part of the Steppe,” she said, gesturing onward. “There are rocky cliffs that line some of the plains, the great desert of Nhaama’s Retreat, and even more land beyond. Many tribes call this land their home, and Nhaama provides; gives enough room for all of us.”

 _As long as certain tribes keep to their own fair share,_ Mara thought grimly. Her eyes went to the west, out towards Nhaama’s Retreat where she knew the Dotharl made their home. If Nhaama blessed them on this journey, they wouldn’t encounter the Dotharl at all—the Dotharl had brought her life nothing but sorrow.

“You say there is a trading city to the north of here, yes?” Lyse asked, studying the horse and saddle.

Mara nodded, adjusting the saddle on her own horse. “It is not, well, ‘city’ as you know. Quite small, compared to Kugane or city in Eorzea. But it is biggest settlement. All tribes go to Reunion to trade in peace—no harm must come to anyone while in Reunion. Qestir see to that.”

“I heard of Qestir last time I was here,” said Yugiri.. “They are tribe that do not speak, yes?”

Mara nodded. “Qestir believe all words are lies, and never speak at all.”

“But how do they...communicate?” asked Lyse, staring.

“There are ways,” Mara smiled, remembering her Qestiri friend, Ubani, from long ago. Ubani had been engaged soon before Mara left…perhaps she was married now. Perhaps she had a child of her own. A quiet life, praising Nhaama, and honoring her by bearing more children to thrive in her Steppe—such a thing was what Ubani wanted, what many girls her age had wanted. But Mara had never understood. Throwing aside the bit of nostalgia, Mara continued, “But we have no fear at Reunion. Qestir are fierce warriors, even so. No matter what happen, we will be protected.”

“Hmph,” said Lyse, “Well, I won’t throw down my guard just yet. First we need to find Lord Hien, then convince him to come back with us. Usually trouble finds us somewhere along the way.”

“Then we must be swift,” said Yugiri, mounting her horse in a single movement, with all the grace of the shinobi. “The faster we find Lord Hien and faster he returns, faster Doma is liberated.”

Mara couldn’t agree more. The less time spent in the Steppe, the better. Seeing her home again gave her uneasy feelings. On the one hand, there was nothing like the comforts of home, of Nhaama’s warm embrace. On the other…

 _“When I think of home, feelings are…mixed,”_ she had said to him, the boy with the crimson hair, crimson eyes. “ _I know of what it is for home to have sad memories, too._ ”

Of course, now it wasn’t just home that had sad memories…All that they had spoken of, all that he had shared…it didn’t matter, in the end. It had all disappeared behind that cold, heavy door in Syrcus Tower.

It was a good lesson to learn. She would not allow herself to become that open—that _attached_ —again. For if there was anything Hydaelyn had taught her, it was that destruction—and death—would always lie in her wake. She would not bring it down upon any more heads.

After a while of preparing themselves for the journey to Reunion, helping Lyse onto her horse (Lyse gripped the reins like she would fall off at any moment) and helping Gosetsu’s horse not to be afraid of his booming voice, they set off across the Steppe. Reunion was not far, less than a day’s ride from the border, but for those that were not used to it, it would be a hard ride.

For Mara, there was something relaxing, calming in being in the saddle again, in the land of her birth. While some tribes like the Qestir had settled down in one place, most were nomads, picking up and setting own camps and Ilohs wherever the wind took them. Kahkol had been no different. Though the Kahkol Iloh had occupied the same place for some time now, things were always at the ready to pack up and move on if needed. It was how they survived after so many attacks from other tribes; no matter what happened, no matter how decimated they might become, Kahkol would always welcome in those with nowhere to grow. And Kahkol would grow, despite the tragedy.

As they rode, Mara’s eyes wandered out to the west, closer to the Dawn Throne. Kahkol Iloh was somewhere out there, just a few malms away under the horizon. How many would recognize her now, after years away? Perhaps Beka was still there, maybe married? There had been a little boy who they had just taken in from the Tumet who was learning the bow—maybe he had finally hit a bullseye by now? Maybe he was training to be a Kahkol warrior?

And then there was Ambagai…

Mara’s fingers tightened on the reins.

She hoped he had been able to move on; find someone else. He had wanted a wife, wanted to raise more children for the Kahkol. He wanted this life, the simple life in the Steppe, content to live as they always had, and never dream of far off places, of adventure.

She could’ve never been the woman he wanted.

 _I didn’t even know until the night I left,_ she thought, remembering how he had come up to her as she packed her saddlebags; begged her to stay. _All I could tell him was to find someone else; that I wasn’t the one he really wanted._

Yes, _please Nhaama_ he had found someone; found the woman he had wanted. That he had been gifted happiness in the end. He had been the only one who had tried to help; tried to understand her dreams. He deserved that much.

As for everyone else…Sometimes Mara did miss them, but for the most part…she just hoped that things were relatively peaceful for the Kahkol. Perhaps her little show of arcanist magicks had scared off the Dotharl for a long while. She just hoped, begged Nhaama that nothing had happened to them after she went away.

“You keep looking over that way,” a voice said in Doman. Mara turned; Yugiri had led her horse next to hers. “Is there something to the West we should worry about?”

Mara’s fingers tensed on the reins again. She looked down. “Well, there is always the Dotharl, and the Oronir, but…” She swallowed a lump in her throat. “That way…between Nem Khaal and Yat Khaal rivers…is Kahkol Iloh. My home.”

“Hmm,” Yugiri cast a glance out to the west, her eyes roaming over the towering figure of the Dawn Throne on the horizon. “Why not go take a look? I have been to Reunion before; I can lead them on.”

“No, I—” Mara shook her head quickly, giving the Raen a startled look. “I cannot. I—I said I would go to help find Lord Hien, I cannot abandon that.”

“Mara,” sighed Yugiri, “You _want_ to go, don’t you?”

It felt as if that lump in her throat traveled to her heart. “I…I do not think I will be welcome…When I left I…it was not on the best of terms.” She glanced down to the saddle, to the dappled brown horse she rode. “They won’t want me there.”

“There’s only one way to find out,” smiled Yugiri. “Besides, do you not worry for them? The way you spoke of your home in Yanxia…You do not need to speak to anyone. Perhaps just…look from afar, soothe your worries?”

Mara sucked in a shaking breath. “I…” She looked up, towards the north, where Reunion lay as a speck on the horizon—and to the west, where her old life, her childhood was.

She lowered her head, closed her eyes, and pulled on the reins, kicking her horse into a gallop—to the West. “Where is she going?” she heard Lyse gasp, before the rest of the conversation was lost on the wind.

She did not need directions, for she knew where she was going—Kahkol Iloh had ever lain near the center of the plains, under the long, long shadow of the Dawn Throne. Nem Khaal pointed the way west as she rode, the afternoon dragging on, the sun starting to sink low in the sky, as she let her horse take her there—take her home.

But as she rode over a small, rocky bluff, saw the beige smudges of Kahkol yurts—she knew something was wrong.

Anticipation was replaced with anxiety—fear as she rode up, seeing no flock of sheep around the outskirts. No spear-carrying warriors patrolling on. No women outside preparing the meal, carding the wool. No children running, laughing, chasing each other outside the Iloh’s fences.

Her heart dropped to her stomach as she came to the edge of their lands—the proud, purple Kahkol banners had been torn down; the wooden beams broken.

Mara dismounted the horse and _ran—_ ran for those yurts, those tents she had known so well, hoping beyond hope—wishing, praying— _Nhaama, please! Don’t let this be—_

But as she found the center of the Iloh, all Mara was met with silence.

A breeze blew through, ruffling her Ishgardian skirts, her ponytail…and the torn cloth of broken down, collapsed yurts all around her. Not a sign of life—nor would there be.

Everything had been abandoned, and so fast they had no time to pack up their yurts.

That was not all. As Mara took trembling steps, she saw rips in the fabric—holes in the canvas cloth. Arrowheads, broken spears, even a rusted sword, thrust deep into the wood.

She sank to her knees, tears filling her eyes as she covered her mouth in horror.

They had come back—the Dotharl, or some other tribe—they had come back, just as she had feared, and their warriors hadn’t been enough—

And Mara wasn’t there to protect them.

She collapsed on her hands and knees, the tears streaming from her eyes, as she let out a long, anguished wail.

_~~~~~_

It was dark by the time she reached Reunion. Mara said nothing to the Qestiri stable master as she stowed her horse, flipped the man a Hingan coin. Her eyes were now dry, though her heart still ached—the corners of her eyes still burned, willing herself to keep it together. She would have to, now. Their mission was not over.

Being the Warrior of Light had taught her many things; first and foremost, how to lock the pain away, and keep it inside. She had once allowed herself to feel, to cry for an entire day only to stop when exhausted sleep took her—no more. She could not allow herself to mourn.

For she had too many people to mourn already.

Reunion was small compared to cities in the West, that was true, but the bustle of the markets, the shouting in several languages—it was home, moreso than Kahkol Iloh in so many ways. _Reunion will always be here_ , she reminded herself, trying to quell the sadness in her heart. She passed by merchants carrying Steppe wool, buuz, kumis, fresh meat, a great stand from the Ura tribe that traded in ores, imported goods from Hingashi, dried fish and persimmons from Doma, jewelry (with an extensive collection of carved jade), potions, weapons—outside the walls, buyers all the way from Kugane crammed to a pen to see the finest Noykin trained horses, another pen of sheep and yaks and bulls and even a tied-down yol. Even as the skies turned dark, the markets were full, with a few merchants beginning to close their stalls for the day. The merchants around her seemed to take her for an outsider (though obviously Xaela) and called out to her in Doman or Hingan, “Finest jewelry, we have jade for your loved one!” “Fresh Buuz, caught daily by the finest Dazkar hunters!” “Kumis to warm you up this night?”

As Mara turned a corner, scanning for any of the others, she heard one more merchant call out, “We have many goods for sale, the finest wares from Kahkol Iloh—”

Mara turned around so fast she nearly ran head-first into a Kugane merchant carrying a load of carpets. Slamming her hands down on the man’s stall, she yelled in Xaellic, “Did you say ‘Kahkol’?”

The man stared at her, in confusion. “Yes? We Kahkol have much to trade and…”

She didn’t hear another word he said, just staring at him, hoping for some sign of recognition. He was tall, with rather large horns, and a pale face. She couldn’t remember him at all—still, he wore the colors of Kahkol. “But—Kahkol is—I’ve been to Kahkol Iloh. There’s nothing there! It’s all gone, and the people are…” She grasped at her collarbone again, remembering the feel of her mother’s jade necklace beneath—remembering the comfort it used to give her, long ago.

The man looked at her, raised an eyebrow. “Who _are_ you?”

Mara hesitated, only a moment. Lowering her eyes, keeping them on a spot on his stall, she said. “My name…is Mara Kahkol. I left—left to go to Eorzea, to find my own path.” She looked back up at him, as recognition dawned on his face. “And now I am back…I am _home._ ”

“Mara…” he breathed, staring at her in awe. “Praise Nhaama! We thought—we never heard anything and—so many of us were sure you were dead.”

Mara gave a soft, sad smile. “No, it takes quite a lot to kill me, it seems.”

“I am glad of it,” he smiled. “I am Baidur. Do you remember?”

She thought; she remembered someone, one of the young warriors that used to hang around Ambagai, used to train with him on the daily hunts. “Yes, yes I remember! Used to train with a spear, did you not? Why did they choose you, out of all of them?”

“I was the only one who knew Hingan,” he laughed. “Though we tried to teach some of the others. I’m afraid no one quite had the gift of languages like you, Mara.”

Mara gave a small smile at that, but soon it faded. “But what happened to Kahkol Iloh? You speak as if the Kahkol are still…”

Baidur sighed, resting his elbows on the stall. “I’ll admit, it hasn’t been an easy couple of years for us…since you left.” Sadness filled his eyes. “After you left it was like…like a spark had gone out. The little ones missed you, some of the other girls would often talk about you, wonder where you were and Ambagai—I think for the longest time, Khudu spoke more than he did.” He chuckled. “But he trained the warriors day and night. He said—he said you were right, that without you, the Dotharl would come back. They would grow bolder. And we would not have the numbers to repel them.”

“So that is what happened,” Mara swallowed, heart hardening at the thought. “The Dotharl came back.”

“Not quite,” he admitted. “It was the Buduga.”

“The Buduga?”

Baidur nodded. “We expected the Dotharl, so we watched the south, the west—we didn’t expect them to come from the north. They—they came in the night, so fast and quick and we—we were unprepared.” Mara clenched her fist so hard her nails dug into her palm. “We fled, scattered, probably traveled more than the Dataq trying to find a place to be safe—but it was so hard, without our warriors—”

With a jolt, Mara saw Ambagai’s face scattering to the winds. “They killed them? _All_ the warriors?”

“Not all of them,” Baidur soothed. “But enough—and those that were still alive were separated, perhaps went into hiding. Ambagai himself told me to escape, to protect the women and children, so I was not there when they made their final stand. Even now, so few of them have returned—whether they be dead, or fled, it does not matter now.”

Mara didn’t say anything, just forced herself to keep listening, to hear of the sad tale—she _had_ to, had to listen to know what her selfishness had caused…

“After we fled, we made a new Iloh, between Hak and Rai Khaal. But then we had the Oronir always coming for us, demanding tribute—and in the winter, the pestilence hit us hard. We—we had to bury so many more of us, and—“ He cut himself off, pulling himself together. “We took the Path of the Craven, over the Wound. We are small in number now, but, we have made a new Iloh for ourselves across the gorge. And more than that, we are safe. The Dotharl, the Buduga—they cannot take horses across the bridge. Yols perhaps, but it would be easier for them to prey on the Mol or some other tribe rather than bother flying so far.”

“Across the Wound?” Mara repeated. “That is—that must be days of riding just to get to Reunion.”

Baidur nodded. “Yes, we have to time trading trips carefully now. And even more so since we cannot take a horse with full pack over the bridge—some of our warriors use Yols to pick up our spoils, our supplies, but it is more difficult now.”

Mara let out a shaking breath. “I’m sorry…all of this, it was because of me, because I left…” So many more deaths on her ledger, all the Kahkol’s troubles—if she had stayed, she could’ve protected them, if she had never been so selfish and—

_Ambagai, I’m so sorry, you deserved better than this…_

“Mara, don’t—” said Baidur. “Don’t blame yourself—you could not have known this would happen. We suspected it, and still we were caught unawares. There was nothing you could’ve done, Ambagai said it himself, in fact, before he led our final charge. If you were here, if you had fought, you might’ve been killed, too. Be glad that you are alive, just as I am glad I am. For the longest time I—I wondered if I could’ve made a difference, standing tall with the rest of them instead of escorting the women and children to safety. But that was my path, and I had to follow it, just as you had to follow yours.” After a moment, he added, “Ambagai would not want you to think it—he knew you would.”

 _What does it matter what he thinks, he’s dead, isn’t he?_ Her heart soured, anger rising up in her gut. Anger at himself, at the Buduga—even at Nhaama, for allowing this to happen to her faithful children. No, she could not dismiss this as another sad coincidence. Shee would have to carry these burdens, just as she carried everyone else’s—for they were marks on her soul, and it was her duty—duty to _them_ —never to forget. And to make sure she never made the same mistake again.

“But don’t despair,” said Baidur. “You know of Kahkol. We may be small now, but we will grow. People are hearing tales of our new Iloh, how we are safe—albeit far away. We already have had some join our ranks, become our family. One of the girls got married this year, she is expecting a child in the winter. You know _us_ , Mara—no matter what, Kahkol will grow. There will always be those who need a new tribe, need a new home. And we will give it with open arms.”

Blinking back a few tears, Mara forced a smile. “Yes, I know. And I’m glad—I’m glad that the Kahkol has not lost their spirit.”

“Well, things are a bit harder where we are now,” Baidur admitted. “The hunting hasn’t been as good as it used to be—but we’re surviving, and that’s all that matters.”

Wiping away another tear, Mara looked down at the wares he had brought to the stall. “Are those—toys?” She pointed to wooden and painted figures, horses, little string-pulled carts.

“Oh, yes!” he said, putting on his merchant face once more. “We cave them, the children at home sometimes do not understand they are meant to be sold, but I let them play with them for a while before I head out.” Baidur said with a chuckle.

Mara reached down to her side, opening up her normal gilsack—now filled with glittering Hingan coins. “Here,” she said, emptying it onto the stall. Baidur’s eyes widened in shock at the amount. “For the toys—give them to the children. In thanks for telling me of home.” She started turning away.

“W-Wait!” Baidur said—sliding the coins into a sack as quickly as possible. “You can’t expect—Mara, this is—do you know how much this _is?”_

Mara shrugged. “It’s all I have in my pocket right now?”

“Well, yes, but—”

“Take it back to Kahkol Iloh,” she said to him, firm; a command. “Give the children their toys, take anything else from this stall that could be useful; keep it. Buy all the provisions you need and then some, and if anyone asks then—“ She glanced up the sky, the stars staring to glimmer in the dim light. “Tell them Mara Kahkol has not forgotten her home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see more great ffxiv fic, join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)!


	5. Mol Iloh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After meeting the young lord of Doma, the journey continues to Mol Iloh...

_The Azim Steppe has many small villages, called “ilohs” where the tribes make their home. Most are temporary things, built of yurts, tents that are easily picked up and packed away. They are small, but close knit, each person helping out, for the good of the tribe…_

_~~~~~_

At long last, Mara had tracked her companions down. They spent most of the next day looking for Lord Hien, the only clue they had was that he was currently living with the Mol tribe. Mara had met the Mol before, she always thought they were a bit of an odd bunch who might consult the old gods even to find out what to have for dinner, but they were nice enough. After asking around Reunion and looking around corners, finally they were pointed the right way.

Gosetsu and Yugiri had gone down on their knees at once before their Lord, who currently sat overlooking the vast plains of the Steppe. All Mara could see of him was a yellow garment, tousled black hair in a high ponytail, and a finely-made katana in his lap. “My Lord, “Yugiri began in Doman, “The people of Yanxia remain loyal to Doma. I have seen the fire in their eyes—they are ready to rise up and fight. The time is ripe; return with us with blade in hand, and lead Doma to freedom.”

Lord Hien chuckled for a moment, his voice smooth, commanding. “Naught less than liberty will suffice? A pity, it will be far more difficult to deliver than my head. But if my people wish for an impossible dream, who am I to deny them?”

He rose, then turned around to greet his comrades. “Yugiri, Gosetsu! And,” he turned, glanced at Mara and Lyse. “Um…”

He looked at both of them with curiosity, but it was Mara who found herself gaping.

Lord Hien was… _quite nice_ to look at.

His face had seemingly lost none of its softness, despite the battle scars upon his brow. He had some stubble around his chin that made him look older than he truly was. And then his arms…muscular, battle-hardened, from years of training and fighting with katana, no doubt.

Mara felt her face grow hot. She wondered how those arms would feel beneath her fingertips…how they would feel around her—

Mara quickly glanced away, hoping no one would notice; Yugiri was still introducing them, translating between Eorzean and Doman, giving her a chance to recover.

What was she _thinking?_ Lord Hien was the heir to Doma! She shouldn’t be thinking this—they had _work_ to do! It was just…the last time she saw arms like that, honed from years of training, they hadn’t been samurai’s arms, but archer’s arms, and…

 _Those finely muscled arms pulling her close under the blanket of stars, holding her as if she was the most precious thing in the world. A kiss that turned her world to embers, making her feel blessed; wanted. The promise of so much more,_ his _promise to stay with her, to journey on, wherever the road took them…and those thick, heavy doors slamming shut, closing him off forever._

No, _no!_ She had to stop thinking about it—he had been gone over a year now, so much happened since—she needed to move on. What happened on the shores of Silvertear Lake needed to stay there, forever. It would be easier if she would just let herself forget.

 _Besides,_ she thought, swallowing the lump in her throat. _It didn’t—that night meant nothing. He only kissed me because of what he was planning to do on the morrow. If he had truly felt—_ she swallowed again. _Then he would’ve never left me at all._

He had been a _coward_ , making her think that he cared for her, promising her they would be together and then—he tried to leave without even saying goodbye, without explaining himself. He had led her on and for _what_ , just to spare himself the awkwardness of letting her down? In the year since, she had learned to harden her heart against him, curse his name whenever she thought of it—

Anger was but a stopper in the wellspring of sorrow, but it did its job, and well.

 _By Nhaama_ , here she was, thinking of _him_ again, when she promised herself she wouldn’t! Shaking her head, she forced those thoughts away and focused back on the conversation—

“How much longer do you instead to stay in the Steppe, my Lord?” asked Yugiri.

Hien smiled, that smile melting the ice Mara had built up over the last few moments—melted thoughts of _him_ away. “Only until I have won the contest. I mean to return at the head of a Xaela army.”

Yugiri gasped, “You mean to participate in the Naadam?”

The _Naadam?_ Mara stared, quickly doing some calculations in her head. Yes, yes it was about that time of year, wasn’t it? “But, only tribes can participate in the Naadam,” Mara cut in, speaking in Doman. “You plan to join with a tribe? Oronir or Dotharl always win, sometimes Adarkim. They have their own warriors seeking glory, they would never let you—”

But Hien only smiled. “That’s why I plan to champion the Mol.”

Mara gaped, unsure she had heard him correctly. “The _Mol?_ ”

Why did he keep smiling, didn’t he realize the folly of it? “Yes, I can at last replay their kindness. Lest you forget, they saved me from certain death—and a man who suffers such debts to go unpaid is without honor, unfit to lead.”

“May be, but…the _Mol._ ” Mara said, still incredulous.

As Hien spoke to Gosetsu and Yugiri about their next moves, Mara quickly translated for Lyse. “This sounds crazy,” she said, staring as well. “And you say these Mol are not, well, known for their warriors?”

“Mol are known for nothing but praying to gods about what meaningless things to do every day,” snapped Mara. “He’s not going to get far in Naadam with them.”

“He’s going to be the next king of Doma, it’s his decision, isn’t it?”

“I suppose,” sighed Mara, looking back out over reunion, and to the north where Mol Iloh lay. _May as well champion the Kahkol for all the good it will do,_ she mused, rolling her eyes. They certainly weren’t going to win the Naadam with the Mol…but if Lord Hien willed it, it’s not like they had any choice.

_~~~~~_

One iloh was very much like another—an outside fence, lined with banners of the tribe, an inside ring of yurts, the largest for the khan, or in this case, the khatun. Perhaps another large one nearby, for the shaman, or wise woman. Smaller yurts or tents would follow the square, sometimes several families sharing a single one, depending on the size of the tribe. _I imagine the Kahkol tents are quite spacious now,_ she thought with a lurch of her heart. Weak though they may be, the Mol were thriving more than her own tribe, a small comfort to Lord Hien’s plan, at least.

As they approached the khatun’s yurt, some of the Mol stared at them with curiosity. They would recognize Hien, of course, but not the travelers with him, and Mara saw a few glances at her, hushed whispers in Xaellic. Who could she be, obviously a Xaela, but speaking in Doman, or Eorzean, and wearing exotic, Western clothes? Few Xaela had ever ventured out of the Steppe, and fewer still returned.

As they walked into the yurt, Lord Hien gave a smile to the khatun, and to Cirina, standing beside her. “Temulun Khatun, Cirina, I am returned, and with my friends, besides.” He spoke in Hingan, not Doman this time, and Mara realized quickly it was so Cirina could translate. _Maybe it was just Kahkol where knowing Hingan was rare?_ Mara wondered. Well, the Mol did live closer to Reunion than the Kahkol had…

“We welcome you back, Hien. The Domans and Eorzeans, too.” The khatun said in Xaellic, smiling.

Lyse seemed to recognize when the khatun said “Eorzea,” at least. “Did she—does she know who we are?”

“The gods know all of you, they revealed it to us, as the stars shone bright at your coming,” the khatun said after Mara asked in Xaellic.

“I…see…” said Mara. _The Mol and their gods…_ She sighed to herself. Well, if the gods were fair, perhaps they would see how devoted the Mol were to them and grant them a fighting chance…not that Mara believed it might happen.

Despite this, Hien was so sure of himself, smiling cockily as he began, “Khatun, I come to beg a boon of you and yours. I seek to rally the strength of the Steppe to liberate my homeland. To that end, I wish to fight in the Naadam, as a warrior of the Mol. Will you grant me this honor?”

“To stand with the Mol is fruitless!” said Cirina, forgetting to translate for her grandmother. “The gods may have willed that we join the Naadam, but we will not claim victory! We are weak, our numbers few. It is impossible!”

 _Ah, so the gods have shown you that too, did they?_ Thought Mara, rolling her eyes.

But Hien only smiled on, such an honest smile that Mara could almost believe he knew what he was doing…almost. “I thank you for your concern, Cirina, but this is why we _must_ cast our lot with you. If we were to join with a more favored tribe—as my friend here tells me, Oronir or Dotharl, I suppose—then when we won, our victory would be attributed to them. And no one would follow me to Doma. No, this is the way it must be.”

The khatun pondered from her seat as Cirina explained. “It is the gods will that we fight,” the Khatun nodded. “Mayhap this too, is their design? In any case, your boon is granted, Lord Hien of Doma. As khatun of the Mol, I invite you to join hands with us in the Naadam.”

As the rest left to go rest with their newfound allies, Mara could only sigh. _It will take a miracle for this plan to succeed…_ She knew well of the Naadam, and the dangers they faced. Many were killed in the yearly contest for supremacy. They would be lucky to all get out alive, much less even get close to winning. But …she _was_ the Warrior of Light. Miracles happened to be her business.

As she turned to head outside the yurt with the others, the khatun called out to her in Xaellic, “You, wait, I would have words.” Mara turned back. “We didn’t have much time for introductions, but I sensed even before your coming that we would meet a sister from the Steppe.”

Mara glanced away. “ _Was_ from the Steppe. It has been…several years since I left. I am Mara, of Kahkol.”

“Khakol,” Khatun Temulun said, a bit of sadness showing in her eyes. “Yes, the past couple of years have not been kind to them, I’m afraid. It must be a heavy thing, to come home and see that everything you knew is not what it once was.”

Mara felt a small pang of sadness in her heart, remembering the anguish she felt upon seeing the ruins of Kahkol Iloh…and the guilt she knew what her leaving had cost them. “They are rebuilding,” she said quickly, staring back at the khatun. “Kahkol will always rebuild. Always grow, always survive.”

The khatun nodded. “That I know. Mol and Kahkol…our tribes are not too dissimilar. Both small, considered weak. But we do what we can to survive.”

Well…Mara would consider the Kahkol a _bit_ more practical and pragmatic about it rather than a tribe that needed to consult the gods before every action, no matter how small or insignificant...but she let it slide. “Is that why you called me away? You wished to know my tribe?”

“No, I have other things to tell you. The gods gave me these words, and I must impart them. I see the mark of the Dusk Mother on you, child—”

Mara raised an eyebrow. _Not very surprising, considering I am Xaela,_ she thought, ruefully.

“I see how stars flicker and flock to you, a shepherd of the stars. Such a radiating light, laying bare the secrets of even the gods. For you are fated to rise in grace and glory, to never fade from memory…such is your strength, will be your salvation in the end. Cherish that light, for it will always bring you back from the dark…for you are the traveler, are you not?”

Mara had been ready to dismiss the whole thing as cryptic gods’ ramblings, but something about that last sentence stuck with her. _You are the traveler…_ There was something otherworldly, familiar about it. Like a title that seemed…right. “What…what did you mean, by that?”

The khatun only smiled. “I know only that my gods wished to impart this wisdom to you. What you take from it is your own.”

“Right. Thank you, then…I guess.” Mara turned away, the words floating in her mind. _The traveler…Shepherd of the Stars…_

Like something in the back of her mind, tugging at a thread, begging her to remember.

But as she walked outside and the conversation changed to preparations for the Naadam, those words, those titles quickly faded away.

_~~~~~_

After their meal, Mara sat around the fire with Cirina and Lyse, as Lyse slept on. It had been a long day, and after chasing around some gulos to help make the evening meal, it was finally time for a rest. Despite the Mol eccentricities, Mara had found Cirina to be good company, at least. It was always nice to have someone who spoke her native language. Ever since going to Eorzea, the only person she had been able to speak with in Xaellic was Mide Hotgo…and that had not ended well, either.

Crossing paths with the Warrior of Light was ever a gamble.

Smiling, Cirina looked on to Lyse as she slept. “I suppose she needed the rest. To have come so far, carry so many burdens.”

“She hardly slept on the way here,” Mara answered, nodding towards her. “Not since we left Ala Mhigo.”

Cirina nodded. “She and Hien are similar, I think. They both fight for their homelands. Both are up against heavy odds, but I can see the fire in their eyes. They will fight, no matter what.”

“I see it too. Hien is…” Mara paused, framing her words _carefully_. “Very determined.”

“It’s easy to like that about him, I think,” said Cirina, looking into the fire with a smile smile.

Mara jerked her head back to stare at Cirina. Wait…did she mean…was she and Hien—Hien _did_ seem rather friendly with her, after all…but the word Cirina used in Xaellic to describe liking him was in the platonic sense—though that didn’t mean it was _entirely_ platonic—and her little smile, was it just a friendly smile, or was she hiding a blush, or—

Mara worked quickly to hide her own blush.

“Speaking of Hien, he and Gosetsu have been gone a while, perhaps you should go check on them?”

Mara quickly collected herself. “Right—of course—I’ll go at once.” Leaving the security of the campfire, she walked from the center of Mol Iloh to the open Steppe beyond. The Steppe had always been beautiful at night—Looking up, she could see the constellations of The Great Horse, The Lesser Horse, the Dusk Mother and Dawn Father, and many others besides…

 _“I should like to see those stars someday,_ ” He had said, with a flash of a smile, a wisp of crimson hair, mismatched eyes sparkling. _“To see them under the Steppe sky.”_

Her hand formed a fist. She was doing it _again_ , after she promised she wouldn’t—

She began compiling a list of all the reasons she shouldn’t think of him anymore, needed to lock that past behind her for good—He had hurt her, had torn her heart asunder and perhaps he had hoped he would be mourned, that she would mope over him for years and years. No, she would _not_ , she would not give him the satisfaction. She would forget him, she was determined to forget him, but the first part of that was to _not see him around every corner—_

But as she turned this corner, her breath was taken away.

Hien sparred with Gosetsu, both of them speaking in Doman as their samurai blades clashed. Hien’s lean muscles near _rippled_ in the moonlight, those strong arms precise with his blade. In one swift movement, he ran forward, raising his sword to Gosetsu’s throat with a smirk as Gosetsu held his hands up in surrender.

All thoughts of _him_ promptly fled Mara’s mind as she watched, entranced.

Hien was _gorgeous._

Gosetsu laughed as he sheathed his blade, bowing in defeat. “You have improved since we last crossed blades! Dear little master Shun, what a fine young man you’ve become!”

Hien blanched, smirk fading. “A man should not be addressed by his childhood name, I’ve told you that before!”

Gosetsu only laughed. “Relax, my Lord, it is only a secret between the two of us…and the fine company approaching.” He said, nodding over to Mara.

Hien folded his arms, scowling as Mara approached, her legs akin to jelly after what she just saw. _Nhaama_ , she hoped she wasn’t blushing. All her energy went to keeping herself _calm_ , keeping her face _neutral._ “And here I was thinking I had cultivated a winning persona, of the proud young lord.”

Gosetsu laughed. “Enough time for that when you return in triumph to Doma.”

Mara could only smile. In Doman, she said, “I think it’s rather cute… _Shun._ ”

Hien looked as if he had swallowed a lemon. “Funny, is it? I had thought I had outgrown my childhood name, but as you seem determined to bring it back into use, well…how shall I punish you?”

Mara _shivered_ at the implication…but it was nothing more than an implication as Hien grinned back at her. “If we are to be Steppe warriors, we need practice. How about a match? If I win, then it’s your turn to tell me one of your darkest secrets.”

 _Now_ she couldn’t hide the blush on her face. “If…if you insist…”

Perhaps if she hadn’t been so distracted, she might’ve been able to bring her full strength to bear. She had only got in a few hits, barely able to summon the Dreadwyrm Trance when he charged—she could not bring up her shield fast enough before his sword was at her throat, and he grinned. “Y—yield,” she stuttered, as Hien laughed.

“Now then,” He chuckled, sheathing his sword. “I believe you owe me a secret, hmm…” he placed a hand on his chin, pretending to think as Mara flushed up red as a ruby tomato. “What is your deepest desire?”

_Strong, muscular arms holding her close, pulling her against a lean, hard chest, cradling her gently; loving her. A kiss on her forehead, soft and sweet, long bangs brushing against her own…but were those bangs red, or black? Eyes hazel…or fiery crimson?_

“To…to end the tyranny of Garlemand,” said Mara, keeping her voice calm. “Not just here, but in Eorzea, too. To push them back once and for all, so they never will hurt another person again.”

“A noble goal,” said Hien, nodding. “But the first step begins here. Once we rid Doma of the Imperials, then you can go on to liberate Ala Mhigo, Dalmasca, all those other places besides. And if anyone could do it,” he smiled that winning smile that made her stomach leap again. “It will be you, Warrior of Light.”

She felt her cheeks go pink again. “If…if you believe so.”

“I know so. Now, come,” he said, gesturing back to Mol Iloh. “We’ve got a lot to do on the morrow, yes? If we are to compete in the Naadam, then we warriors need to rest.”

Nodding, Mara followed him back to camp, blushing the whole time.

 _Nhaama above_ , what was wrong with her?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see more great ffxiv fic, join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)!


	6. The Dawn Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The khan of the Oronir would like a word...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Mentions of rape, though it is mentioned as an abstract concept.

_At the center of the Steppe lies the towering Dawn Throne, where the conqueror of the Naadam resides. For they look down on the Steppe in supremacy, content in their greatness until the seasons turn, and the Naadam begins again…_

_~~~~~_

How did things end up like this? She had been so _happy_ hours ago.

The journey to Bardam’s Mettle had been pleasant enough—Mara and Cirina led them across the wilds of the Steppe, avoiding other tribes’ territory and fighting monsters in their wake. It had been exhilarating, traveling on horseback across the Steppe again, fighting whatever came their way, and feeling like a proper Xaela for the first time in years. For all her wanderlust, her thirst for adventure, Mara was still a daughter of Nhaama; the Steppe remained in her blood. So they journeyed forth, as she smiled and talked with Cirina in her own language, she and Lyse making silly contests for how many beasts they could slay on their way.

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this,” said Lyse, smiling as they pulled in their haul for their campfire diner—gulo again, but Cirina was quite good at spicing it and making it palatable. “You seem happier than I’ve seen in weeks.”

Mara only meekly smiled back. How could she explain how this felt? Getting to travel her home again, but getting to do it on her own terms, with her own goal in mind.

Without warning, Hien leaned over as they piled on their kill. “Gulo again, hmm? I daresay I am starting to get a taste for it,” he laughed; Mara blushed.

Yes there was… _that_ to consider.

Oh, she had no reservations on how this would turn out—Lord Hien was the heir to Doma, and after Doma was liberated, he would remain to rule his people, while she must return to Eorzea. She had known long ago that she would not be with anyone unless they could travel with her, unless they too possessed that selfsame wanderlust, the urge to travel and see new places and things…so it was mere folly to entertain it.

No, she would keep this to herself, she resolved…but that didn’t mean she wouldn’t _enjoy_ it a bit.

As they came to Bardam’s Mettle, their testing ground, for the first time in a long time she felt…apprehensive. This place that had been barred to her years before, the ancient rite of passage for all hopeful Steppe Warriors…if she succeeded, she would be counted among them. A Steppe Warrior, at last.

If this was in Eorzea, she would march right in, secure in the knowledge that she could overcome any trial sent her way. She had felled primals and Garleans and ascians and all manner of beasts and voidsent, surely she could overcome a simple trial of the Steppe? No one spoke of what lay beyond, as it was a right only granted to those who were worthy.

There came the fear again, the worry from a lonely girl who desperately wanted to protect her tribe, her family— _Am I good enough?_

As Cirina left them to head back to Mol Iloh ahead of them, those feelings, those worries had to be pushed aside. Mara needed to lead the way inside; the Warrior of Light would not be afraid of a simple trial. The Warrior was _fearless_ , could conquer any obstacle that barred her path. For now, she had to let go of the mantle of Mara, the girl from the Steppe, and step into her role as the _Warrior._

And in the end, it was that mantle that led them to succeed. The trial itself was not hard, but she had a feeling the very gods of the Steppe were judging her; like something watched carefully as they made their way through. The final test, she would face alone, as a wild yol came down from the mountains, perhaps drawn to her warrior spirt. It fought and it raged to not be tamed, to fly free. Mara pitied it a little bit; she understood well the instinct to stay unclaimed, to want to forever be free, to go where the wind takes you…but for now, she had a trial to finish. After a lengthy fight (in which she was beginning to regret wearing the long Neo-Ishgardian style skirt—it was blown up so many times while trying to tame the yol) the beast relented, and accepted her as its master.

And so it was, when she returned from Bardam’s Mettle, she returned as a Warrior of the Steppe.

A _Steppe Warrior_ —how her heart surged when she thought of it! Once and for all she could finally count herself among them, proven to Nhaama and the elder gods that she was strong as she always wanted to be! Generations of warriors had lived and died among these wide, open lands and _at last_ she was finally one of them—

But they had barely congratulated themselves when a new obstacle found them.

Dozens of warriors surrounded them while they were celebrating their triumph, descending from the hills and appearing like nowhere from the grass, spears pointed in a warning. Gosetsu and Hien drew their swords, Mara and Lyse readied themselves. “Who are they?” asked Lyse, staring at them all.

Mara’s eyes narrowed at the warriors’ yellow outfits. “Oronir,” she spat. “I think—I think current rulers of the Steppe.”

“You mean they won the Naadam last year, yes?” she said, staring as Mara only nodded.

“You there, you who have walked Bardam’s Mettle,” the closest one said in harsh Xaellic. “Newborn warriors of the Steppe. Our khan demands an audience. You will come, _now._ ”

Their spears lowered angrily, the light eyes of all the Oronir narrowing in a challenge, but as her company merely stared, confused at the words, Mara stepped forward, putting away her grimoire and raising her hands. “They do not speak our language,” she said, keeping her tone neutral. “Give me but a moment…”

Turning back, Mara quickly explained the situation to her companions. “We can fight them off,” said Gosetsu in Doman. “If that is your will, my Lord.”

“Hmm,” Hien tapped his foot, thinking. “Ordinarily, this would be the part where I politely decline. Politely decline, and find a clever way to get out of this mess. “But this may be an opportunity to assess their strength—it is not like the Naadam will begin at any moment.”

“You do not understand Oronir,” said Mara, sighing. “One does not—does not ‘assess their strength’—”

“ _More than that_ ,” Hien cut her off, slowly lowering his katana. “I wish for the Steppe— _all of the Steppe_ —to come together if I am to liberate Doma. If all goes to plan, then _they_ will be fighting for _us_ soon enough.” He gave a wry smile, the sort of smile that would have flipped Mara’s stomach, had not the situation been so tense. “So, shall we go meet our comrades-to-be?”

Well, he _was_ the lord of Doma. As foolish as Mara thought it was, if he wanted it, then who was she to complain? “All right,” she sighed. “But be careful. I would not trust them.”

But Hien just kept on with _that infuriating smiling._ “Come, have some faith in your future comrades! Now, tell them we accept their khan’s generous invitation, if you please.”

With a heavy sigh, Mara turned back, and spoke the words. The warriors came closer, surrounding them—but did lower their spears, slightly. They were all but captured on this pretense of a “generous invitation.”

Mara scowled as she explained it all to Lyse, folding her arms in exasperation. She wanted to believe Lord Hien knew what he was doing, but how could he _possibly?_ He didn’t know the Oronir, he barely knew this land at all! 

_Just keep your council, and be ready to make a quick escape when the time comes_ , she told herself, as they prepared for the ride to the Dawn Throne.

_~~~~~_

The Dawn Throne had always looked out upon the Steppe in defiance, demanding of supplication. Oh, the tribes would change every other year, no one held supremacy for long—but it was always the Oronir, the Dortharl, the Adarkim, and there was that one year with the Borlaaq—but it was always the larger, fiercer tribes squabbling over it. Tribes like Mol and Kahkol did not bother. Why place an even larger target upon yourself when you were already a target? There was no point—neither of them would ever win.

But every time you looked across the Steppe, from wherever you are, you would see the great Dawn Throne before you. Kahkol Iloh had been in its shadow, close enough to see it at all times; a reminder of their weakness, asking of subservience. Some years, Kahkol even paid tribute to the Dawn Throne, if the rulers asked for it; what better way to ensure their safety than to make friends in high places? But the last few years Mara had lived there, the tribute asked was ever larger and larger, and Kahkol already struggled ensuring all needs were met.

 _Where they are now, far away as it is, they are free of it,_ Mara reminded herself through the haze of guilt. _In time, as they rebuild, it will be a better situation, in the end._

The view from the top of the Dawn Throne was spectacular—Mara could see now why some would fight for the honor. She could see so far, from Reunion in the east to the towering cliffs in the west—to the southern desert and northern mountains—and far, _far_ to the east, she could see the beginnings of the great gorge, the Wound, that separated the central Steppe from the eastern side—where Kahkol Iloh now lay. It was breathtaking in its splendor— _This is how Nhaama looks down upon us, her children_ , thought Mara, as she forced herself to look away.

The Oronir led them to the palace at the center of the Dawn Throne; one of the few true buildings here on the Steppe; even permanent ilohs were often built of yurts as they were in the olden days. “Look,” said Lyse, pointing at the banners outside the palace. “There are two different banners. The yellow is Oronir, isn’t it? Then what’s the other?” Her finger pointed to a banner colored in a deep, forest green.

Mara’s eyes narrowed, anger flashing in her gut. “Buduga,” she said, the word coming out like a snarl.

 _So, the traitorous Buduga have partnered with the Oronir, have they?_ She grit her teeth at the thought. _Not even the Dotharl would agree to that…_

They were forced to hand over their weapons at the gates, though Mara held back; kept her grimoire at her side. No one but her own tribe and the Dotharl had seen what she could do with a book, so perhaps…

She smirked as the Oronir guard waved her through. Good, just in case any of them needed a reminder of who they were dealing with…

At the center of the throne room, the khan of the Oronir sat on the fur-lined throne, staring down at them as if they were naught but ants. He was a large man, dark, yellow eyes narrowed in deepest suspicion. “Most radiant brother Magnai,” the Oronir guard said. “We have brought the ones you seek.”

Magnai leaned back in his chair, examining them. “ _You_ conquered Bardam’s Mettle?” he said, his voice thick with distaste.

He addressed Hien, but of course, spoke in Xaellic. If he knew Hingan or Doman, Mara doubted he would even bother; he seemed like a man who would not demean himself to speak the language of his prisoners. Stepping forward, Mara resigned herself to playing translator once again. “We did conquer Bardam’s Mettle, as warriors of the Mol. Now that we have answered your question, would you perhaps answer one of ours? Why have you summoned us here?”

Magnai only deepened his scowl. “ _Mol._ I see. Well, _Mol_ , we shall not speak as equals. Born of the Sun are Oronir, and born of the earth are you.”

 _He thinks I am Mol,_ Mara realized, grimacing. For as much as it hurt her pride—with the Buduga khan right there, other Buduga warriors all around, perhaps it was for the best to keep any undue attention off the Kahkol. “Would the generous Sun be willing to share his reasons?”

Magnai’s expression darkened. “Do not mock me, _Mol._ When I learned of trespassers in the ancient Bardam’s Mettle, I bade my warriors to take their measure—flay them if they failed the test. By the grace of Azim, you survived, emerged victorious, so I bid them bring you to me, to pay tribute.”

“Tribute, I see,” said Mara, carefully. She glanced back at her companions. They couldn’t understand a word of what was going on, but Lyse and Gosetsu seemed to catch on that things weren’t going as well as they could have—Hien, however, just kept on smiling as if it was a pleasant how-do-you-do, nothing more. _What is he planning?_ Mara wondered, dumbfounded. “As you can see, we are but few Warriors, most of us not from the Steppe. What tribute do you expect us to pay? We have no coins nor goods to give you.”

“Hmph,” Magnai moved forward on his throne, hand on his chin, considering. “Indeed, you do look like travelers, and it is known that the Mol is not a wealthy tribe. A task, then. Should you complete it successfully, you will be allowed to sear fealty to the Sun. Promise to serve him unto death, and you may know his glory.”

The Buduga khan turned back to Magnai; Magnai nodded. “Oh, we have a change of plans, it seems the Buduga want you—though only the men. For if you are warriors, then you are fit to serve them, are you not?” Magnai stood up from his chair, head held high, walking towards them.

Only now did Hien’s smile start to fade.

Stepping back toward Lyse, Mara was suddenly _very_ aware how short she was, especially compared to this man. “And the women? What is your plan for us?”

Magnai held a tiny smile. A bit of fear rippled up her spine—she knew that smile, that was the smile of a man she had seen in the Ruby Sea, as he cornered her and demanded she pay the ruby toll with her body—the smile many Steppe Warriors had as they caught a woman fleeing from their tribe, with the anticipation of what they would do to her. As tribes fought, burned ilohs and captured those who fled, Mara had grown up knowing what happened to those women who couldn’t get away fast enough. Kahkol had taken in enough of them for her to see the result of it—the babes born where the mother couldn’t look at them in the eyes for fear of seeing the shadow of the father. And so Xaela women learned to defend themselves, sometimes even become Steppe Warriors, in the hope that if the time came, they would have the skills to keep themselves safe.

Grimoire forgotten, Mara remembered what it was like, having the fear that the man in front of you wouldn’t take no for an answer.

“We will only permit two of you to go to complete this task. To ensure that you cooperate, we shall take two hostages. The Buduga seem to want that one,” he pointed at Hien—to which Hien seemed to take a stupid pride in, despite not knowing the words. “And the Sun shall, I think…” His eyes roamed over Mara and Lyse in a way that made Mara want to vomit. “Normally I would only take Xaela women, but since she does not know our language…yes, the red woman will do for now. Doubtless she is not my moon, but, yes, she will do.”

Mara swallowed, taking a glance at Lyse—Oh, Lyse was going to _fume_ when she found out what this was all about later. “What do you mean, your ‘Moon?’”

Magnai smirked. “Are you so ignorant of our ways, little Mol? To every Oronir, Father Azim grants us our moon, our Nhaama. I know she waits for me, somewhere, a soul to mirror my own. Long have I searched for her, but alas…” he sighed a long, heavy sigh. “She eludes me. The woman I seeK is of the dusk, a gentle, ethereal maiden, but a warrior besides…” Now his eyes turned on Mara and she felt…disgusted. He lifted his hands up, as if to gently brush aside a lock of hair…

_Trembling fingers pushing a lock of midnight blue hair behind her horn, trailing down her cheek, lifting her face up to capture her lips in his—_

Mara _grabbed_ his wrist, thrusting it away from her. “Get your hands off me!” she snarled, “Touch me again and I will _break_ you!”

The Buduga and Oronir raised their weapons, pointed them right at her. _Idiot, all that time playing nice and—_ But Magnai wrenched his hand out of her grip, merely chuckling. “Very well, I see then. My Nhaama would not use such language in the presence of her Azim.” He waved off the warriors, who lowered their spears, but slowly.

Enraged, face flushed, Mara glanced back at her companions…Lyse looked worried, Gosetsu had raised his hands as if to use his fists in defense, and Hien—was laughing. Mara blushed even deeper.

She wanted to just crawl in a hole rather than listen to Magnai speak of whatever trumped-up-task he was going to put them through...and worse, she would have to explain it all over again to the rest afterwards!

 _I left the Steppe to get away from men like him,_ Mara glared, clenching her fists. _We may have no hope in the Naadam but I dearly hope at least beat_ him _._

_~~~~~_

Magnai had released them after explaining their task (spy on the Dotharl? Really? Was he _trying_ to get them killed? Though, he probably _was_ after her outburst…) and gave them parole of the Dawn Throne until the morning, when they were to set out.

Mara walked among them, the Oronir and Buduga alike, trying to ignore the stares, the whispers. “Brother Magnai’s guests from the Mol.” She was already flustered, after having to deal with _that_ (Hien had gotten plenty of amusement after she had to recount the entire conversation, _“Oh, so you did not want to be the Sun’s Moon, then? I see.”_ ) and she would’ve rather thrown herself off the Dawn Throne rather than be the butt of Hien’s jokes.

Sighing, she found a quiet spot behind a few tents in the shadow of the palace. She looked up at the dimming sky, swallowing hard. Lord Hien was just so…so _optimistic_ about this whole plan that Mara was sure would end in disaster. Hearing him speak of it with such hope, sometimes she could even allow herself to believe, for a moment. Such a proud man, a born leader, and…nice to look at besides…though she knew her admiration of him was a hopeless thing, never to be spoken of, she couldn’t help the little blushes every time he looked at her, smiled, spoke her name…

It was…nice, to feel such a way that she hadn’t in over a year…She hugged herself for a moment, that familiar ache filling her breast again.

_Raha…_

“Oh, one of Brother Magnai’s mysterious guests, is it? And alone…”

Movement to her left. Mara grabbed at her grimoire and shot out a bolt of ruin—she heard a gasp and a crash as the man stumbled backwards over a crate. Mara held her grimoire high, standing over her pursuer—he wore the green of the Buduga, was tall, dark as all Xaela, with prominent horns. As she turned a page and prepared another spell, the man threw his hands up in surrender. “Wait, wait—Mara Kahkol, it’s me!”

_“…Kahkol?”_

No one here would know her tribe, they all thought she was Mol—She lowered her grimoire, mouth open in shock. “Ambagai?”

The man lowered his hands and she saw his face…that face she remembered watching her go, years ago, on a dark lonely night in the Steppe. She sank to her knees, staring as she sat up. “Ambagai, is it really…?” He wore the colors of Buduga now, but…

Ambagai nodded, smiling. For a moment, she only stared and then, “Oh, _Nhaama!”_ She said, lunging forward, pulling him into a hug as tears pooled at the corner of her eyes.

“Now, what’s this?” Ambagai laughed, giving her a pat on the head as she pulled away. “You never used to hug,” She wiped the tears away. “Or cry.”

“I thought you were dead!” she said, her voice still cracking. “Baidur told me everything that happened. He said our warriors were scattered, many had not returned.”

Ambagai’s face darkened, his hand forming into a fist. “The Buduga attacked us in full force that night—our warriors weren’t enough. We were enough to delay them, to get our women and children to safety but beyond that…” He sighed, guilt filling his face. “I led so many of them to slaughter…the rest of us could do naught but scatter, hope that we could flee and make it back to Kahkol in once piece. I do not know what became of most of them. I have tried to find out, but…” He trailed off, unclenching the first. “I was captured. I thought perhaps they would kill me, but the Buduga ever want for good warriors. I was not given much of a choice.” He said, grimacing. “There are a few more here as well, Yabuqa and Chihui besides.”

“Yabuqa?” Mara thought one of the Buduga who saw them in looked familiar—he had even given her a little nod in recognition.

“I look after them as I promised them before, even though we are here now, so far from our home.” He looked down at the grass beneath his feet, eyes heavy with emotion. “It is what I can do to keep my word to them, and to our fallen brothers and sisters.”

Mara swallowed, leaning closer to her old friend. “You cannot blame yourself, Ambagai. You did the best that you could, and your final stand allowed many to escape. Kahkol survives.”

“Kahkol will always survive,” said Ambagai, meeting her eyes. “Until the last Kahkol’s life is spent, we shall endure, we shall grow.” He shook his head, “Though now I can no longer speak of it as such anymore. I am Buduga now, and Buduga I will remain, So,” a smile came on his face. “What of you? How fares Mara Kahkol since she first set foot outside the Steppe?”

Mara smiled, told him of her travels. Told him of the land beyond the Ruby Sea, far to the West—of the magic she found there. Of enemies found in primals, Garleans, and dragons—and how her path led her back here, to her home. “And now I am a Warrior of the Steppe. Strange how things turn out.”

“Yes, strange,” Ambagai agreed. “But you have not told me everything. How fares _Mara Kahkol_ now that she was given her taste of freedom? Did you find everything you were looking for? Power, adventure, love?”

Mara blushed. “Don’t speak of such things, Ambagai.”

“Might as well, you rejected me, but I’d like to know of who your heart wanted instead,” He teased, grinning like a fox. “That Doman that travels with you; he has a nice face. Is he the one?”

“Stop, stop, _stop—!”_ Mara threw her hands out, full red in embarrassment. “For your information, he is heir to the throne of Doma! Such a thing would never—”

“That hasn’t stopped some people, I’m sure. He stayed with the Mol for a while, right? I’m sure a number of Mol have tried—”

“When did you get so _insufferable?_ ”

Ambagai only chuckled, “When did you get so fun to tease? You used to be so serious all the time. Traveling has done you good. I like you this way.”

“Well I liked _you_ better when you were sour and brooding,” snapped Mara moving to stand up.

Mara had barely stood up when Ambagai said from behind her, “There was someone, wasn’t there? Who taught you to laugh; taught you to smile? Some days, I wished that could’ve been me, but…Well, I see now it takes a different sort of man; I could’ve never measured up to you.”

Her mouth opened slightly, frozen as the image played in her mind; _A soft smile, laughter on those lips—ruby eyes looking at her with such gentleness…A tender caress as he pulled her into his arms, holding her beneath a starry sky…_

Mara swallowed, looking at the grass beneath her feet. “He’s…he’s gone now. He’s gone and he won’t be returning…Not dead, but I will never see him again.” She turned back to Ambagai’s shocked face, glaring. “There, you know the secrets of my heart. Are you _happy_?”

“I could never be happy when you were unhappy,” he admitted leaning back. “I suppose that was why I was ‘sour and brooding’ as you called it…I only ever wanted to protect you, keep you safe...but in the end, all I did was push you away.” Ambagai shook his head. “And here we are now. Me, a conscripted Buduga, and you, a warrior to put all of them to shame. But come,” he patted the grass down beside him. “Let’s speak of happier things. For one, you must tell me what happened when you went to see Brother Magnai.” His smile grew fox-like again. “Did he look upon you as if he was entranced? Asked if you were his Nhaama?”

Ambagai near cackled with laughter as she sputtered; threatened to throw another ruin at him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The character in this chapter, Yabuqa, is a real NPC in the game! He has a sidequest about how he was once a Kahkol and is now a Buduga. It was one of the things that inspired this fic, actually. But there's so much great Xaela lore all over the Axim Steppe that it was hard to pick and choose what to include.
> 
> If you want to see more great ffxiv fic, join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)!


	7. Dotharl Khaa

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She had seen the Dotharl in her nightmares, and now Mara must travel to see them, face to face...

_Of the many ilohs in the Azim Steppe, one notable one is Dotharl Khaa, the village of the Dotharl. A warlike tribe, they make their home on the edge of the desert around an oasis, such a hardly living helps train the Steppe’s fiercest and most notable warrior tribes…_

_~~~~~_

In truth, despite her desire to get as far away from Magnai as possible, Mara would’ve dealt with him for weeks on end rather than deal with the Dotharl. She didn’t see the Oronir in her nightmares; hadn’t lived in fear of them for years and years…The Oronir had never taken so much from her when she was too young to remember.

As she and Gosetsu journeyed south, and the vast plains gave way to the desert of Nhaama’s Retreat, Mara had recounted what she knew of Dotharl to the old samurai. “Great warriors, you say?” he asked in Doman. “Perhaps we shall get along splendidly!” he laughed.

“You do not understand,” sighed Mara, exasperated. “Doman samurai live by a code, by honor. Dotharl do not. They live only to fight; for battle. They know nothing else and _want_ nothing else.”

“I’m sure we can find some common ground!” He said, still smiling as if this was nothing more than a pleasure trip. “Perhaps it would be best to lead with that if we are to complete the khan’s mission?”

Mara gave a noncommittal grunt, tightening her fingers on the horse’s reins. Why was it that every Doman was so _optimistic_ about how things were going? Both Hien and Gosetsu didn’t understand the ways of the Steppe, didn’t understand the danger they were in—both of them so _sure_ Hien’s plan for the Naadam would work out. All the happy thoughts in the world wouldn’t matter when faced with entire tribes coming for you, fully intent on killing you to chase the ultimate prize.

“Let’s just do what we have to and leave quickly,” said Mara. “I am sure the _gracious Sun_ won’t mind if we head out to avoid any more trouble.”

Gosetsu only chuckled. “We do have our friends waiting for us, but worry not. I am sure they are being given the utmost hospitality.”

Mara said nothing, knowing better. 

A warm wind rolled off the desert as they approached Dotharl territory, with Mara keeping her eyes open, trying to look all places at once. A Dotharl could be hiding behind any rock, perhaps an army was already waiting, ready to advance? She tried not to jump at shadows, to tense every time she heard the howl of a wolf on the plains, but she couldn’t help it.

The Dotharl had ever haunted her memories. It was the Dotharl that decimated her original tribe, had killed her father and nearly her mother, too. It was the Dotharl that had attacked in her youth, giving her a first glimpse into death. And it was the Dotharl that came raiding again that day outside the iloh, when she unleashed the power of her egi upon them. Ever had she feared them, woke up shaking from nightmares. Children in Eorzea had monsters under their bed, but for Mara, they monsters were _real_ , and here she was, traveling into a nest of them.

But Mara was not the only Xaela haunted by memories of the Dotharl. When traveling in Dravania she met Mide Hotgo, who had also lost her tribe from Dotharl raids. Mara had always believed that her original tribe had been Hotgo, and she and Mide had fallen into an easy friendship; there was no one else in Eorzea with whom she could speak her native tongue, after all. They would sit around the campfire at night after exploring deeper and deeper into Alexander, talking in Xaellic and reminiscing on the beauty of the Steppe; their tribes. Mide was older than her, and remembered her time with Htogo, and regaled Mara with their tales. And Mara had listened, transfixed, wondering if things had been different, perhaps they would’ve been childhood friends. Perhaps she would’ve grown up knowing her father, having her mother for most of her life. Perhaps she would not have felt as lonely as she did in Kahkol, maybe have even stayed in the Steppe.

Still, things from so long ago could not change, and Mara enjoyed what friendship they had. Perhaps she hoped that after the exploration of Alexander was done, they would keep in touch; it was nice to have a friend from home in this far corner of the world.

That is, until the curse of the Warrior of Light came full circle. Danger would always follow Mara, and that danger so often lashed out at the ones she cared about.

And so Mara was left to mourn the friend she had for a short while; the last person in Eorzea who could truly understand. She had met one or two Xaela in her travels but…now, the last Hotgo was gone. That last link to that life Mara never had; that life that, sometimes in her darkest thoughts, she _wished_ she had.

Mara shook those thoughts from her head as they approached the Dusk Throne, the mighty statue of Nhaama that gazed out across the desert. Here, they would get their bearings and approach Dotharl Khaa from the best angle. Mara had never come to the desert of Nhaama’s Retreat before—the endless sand sea sprawling on in the sunlight before her. Though smaller in area than the Steppe itself, it seemed to stretch on and on—the harsh desert barrier to any that would invade certain tribes’ territory. Mara knew the Dotharl kept their iloh on the edge of the desert, on a rare oasis. So perhaps, they could spot it from here…

Standing atop the statue, a hand over their eyes as they searched, Gosetsu found it first. “I spy tents to the west, see?” he pointed to a smudge on the horizon. “Could it be?”

Mara squinted. There was a patch of green, of blue as well. “I think so. It looks like an oasis.” She replied in Doman. “We should head that way—”

“Wait, down there!” Gosetsu pointed, far below. Two men were there—no one man, another lying on his side, surrounded by desert wolves. “They are in trouble!”

Mara looked down, hand at the grimoire at her side. Perhaps they were nomads, or Dataq lost in the desert…but then she spotted the blue that they wore. “Dotharl,” she sneered, pulling her hand back from her grimoire.

“Yes, we have to help them!” said Gosetsu, drawing his katana. “It looks like it may be too late for one, but we must help the other! We cannot abandon him to his fate.”

 _I could…_ thought Mara ruefully. One less Dotharl meant one less warrior to take other tribe’s sheep—their wool—their lives. The Dotharl craved nothing more than to fall in battle, why not let them? Why not just sit back and let them have that glorious death as they wanted?

But Gosetsu was already heading down. “Come, we cannot abandon him to this fate!” he called back to her, rushing from the Dusk Throne. Mara sighed…Well, too late to entertain those dark thoughts now.

Gosetsu rushed in, slicing through the wolves in almost one movement. By the time Mara followed him down (she _did_ try to keep up…maybe) Gosetsu had killed them all. “That’s all of them,” said Gosetsu, speaking to Mara as she ( _carefully_ ) approached the man.

Despite the fact that the man was Dotharl, that they were not to fear death above all else, the man certainly looked glad that death had not befallen him this day. “I owe you my life,” he panted, standing up on shaking legs.

“He was happy to help,” replied Mara. She made no mention of her own feelings on the matter.

Gosetsu walked over to the body on the ground, blood already drying in the sands. “Dead, poor man. Shame we couldn’t see them sooner…”

The Dotharl sighed, shook his head. “Wolves…such a fate does not fit Geser. It is no way for a Dotharl to die.”

Coming back up to them, pity in his eyes, Gosetsu said to Mara, “We should escort him back to his home, just in case. He is injured and if the wolves come back…”

Mara sighed. “Of course.”

Of all the things…now she was saving a Dotharl!

Taking their horses and keeping a leisurely pace (Gosetsu gave up his horse to the injured man, a kindness Mara did not have in her) they set off towards Dotharl Khaa. The sun was lowering in the sky by the time they came upon the iloh, sturdy yurts circled around the small oasis. Blue-garbed Xaela walked around, congregating, seeming relatively normal compared to Mara’s imaginations of them. She expected them all to be vigilant on their guard, perhaps training night and day, or on the hunt to hone their skills. Perhaps she had anticipated them lying in wait for her, ready to attack—to jump her has they had in her nightmares.

But they were just so—so _normal._ Yes, they all carried their weapons, for all Dotharl were warriors, but old women were sitting in circles, spinning wool. Men skinned gulo and tanned the hides; a few of the younger women tended to the young children. They worked together to gather the day’s hunt, to mend the tents, to sort the supplies. In fact, if Mara had not known, she would not have suspected this tribe to be _the_ Dotharl all.

Still…Mara took off her grimoire and slid it into her borrowed horse’s saddlebag. Just in case anyone remembered that day they tried to raid Kahkol Iloh…

They left their horses at the hitching post and approached Dotharl Khaa, the guards looking at them with suspicious, narrowed eyes, yet they let them through. The injured man leaned on Gosetsu as they brought him in, several of the Dotharl staring, gasping at their own so wounded. “There,” the man said, pointing to the largest yurt. “Take me to the khatun; she must know.”

Sighing, Mara and Gosetsu led on. Great, now they were to present themselves to the Dotharl _khatun._

Mara was surprised as they came upon the Dotharl khatun; she was a small woman, slight of build like Mara. Her snow white hair was striking against the darkness of her skin, and yet her eyes flashed with a ferocity that Mara never wanted to cross. Though she was small, Mara could feel it in the air around her; this was a _powerful_ warrior. One that she hoped she might not ever meet face to face. “Who is this?” the khatun snapped. “Who are these outsiders that you bring into our midst?”

Mara glanced as a few of the Dotharl came closer, hands nervously reaching toward their scabbards…Damnit, why did she leave her grimoire in her pack?

But the man they saved quickly limped forward to placate them. “Forgive me, Sadu Khatun. I could not have made it back without their help. Geser and I were hunting, and we were caught unawares. They saved my life, but Geser is…”

“Hmm,” Sadu Dotharl said, glancing at Mara and Gosetsu with narrowed eyes. “Someone take care of him!” she turned, barked to the warriors nearby. Two spear-carrying Dotharl came and assisted the injured man, picking him up to carry him off to a tent. Sadu turned back to Mara. “In thanks to your service to our tribe, we will not kill you… _yet_. But answer me this; I have heard of travelers in league with another tribe. So close to another Naadam, we are not like to allow any outsiders in our midst. So, speak plain; who do you serve?”

Gosetsu merely blinked; Mara had told him his strength would be in looking at Dotharl Khaa with his trained, warrior eyes; he was no help in speaking to them. Stepping closer, Mara began. “We are friends of the Mol. We had heard tales of the strength of the Dotharl, and we had come to assess your strength for ourselves.”

“The _Mol…”_ Sadu stared, then gave a wide, cat-like grin. “Those little lambs who wander to and fro at the behest of their gods!” She threw her head back and gave a roaring laugh. “You are fools to join with those weaklings! Next you’ll tell me you wish to fight in the Naadam!”

Mara felt her face blush; she glanced away. Sadu only laughed harder. “So you _do_ wish to fight! Well, that is not unwelcome. Perhaps you will make for some sport. Well then, I grant you leave to walk among us. Look on our glory and despair! We fear no tribe; _certainly_ not the Mol. Of course, if you were Oronir, I would burn the flesh from your bones here and now.”

“Of—of course we would not join with Oronir—would the Oronir want anything to do with warriors of the Mol?” Mara said, trying to give a carefree laugh, but it came off more high pitched and nervous.

If Sadu noticed, she did not care. She glanced back towards the oasis. “Since Chamka is being attended to, I must speak to Geser’s widow. You saw what happened to him, did you not? Come,” Sadu gestured to Mara.

Turning back to Gosetsu, Mara said quickly in Doman, “Look around, I will be right back.” Goestsu nodded.

“I said _come!_ ” Sadu snapped, already several paces ahead. Wincing, Mara hurried after her. As they walked past several yurts, Mara spied a young child, perhaps only a few years old, staring up at her as she walked past; her Ishgardian skirts swishing in her wake. The child looked up at her with wide eyes, sucking on a thumb in his mouth. The child looked so small, so innocent; would this child grow up to be a merciless killer, too?

Mara didn’t want to think about that.

Geser’s widow was a small, young girl; about the same age as Mara. She seemed to struggle with the news, but she held herself together; would not weep in front of her khatun. Still, she did seem to lose her composure upon being told the manner of his death. “Surrounded by wolves…” the girl, named Shar, said, her voice wavering. “He deserved a better death…”

“How he died matters not,” said Sadu, her voice harsh; fair. “He died in a battle for his life, as all Dotharl should. Geser was a great warrior; he will return to us in time.”

“He wished to fight in the Naadam for the glory of Dotharl,” said Shar, looking downcast; hands shaking. “I know he will return, but it won’t be soon enough. I think…for the others we cannot lose, perhaps council restraint…”

“Shar,” said Sadu, glancing not at the girl, but at Mara. Mara straightened her back, not sure if she was supposed to pretend she did not hear it or not. “Dotharl fear nothing, certainly not death.” Sadu finished. Shar turned away, going back into her yurt, perhaps to mourn. Turning towards Mara, Sadu said, “And do you know why that is, Little Mol?”

Mara swallowed hard. _You fear not death because you bring death to others_ , she thought, grimly. Instead she said, “I have heard Dotharl called ‘The Undying Ones.’”

“That’s right,” said Sadu, a wicked smile on her face. “With death, a warrior must dance boldly. Fearlessly, and while fighting for his life, his soul shines bright. In death, his soul is purest white—exhaled. The flesh rots, but the soul endures. And ere the seasons have turned, so shall he return to us.”

“And how do you…return?” asked Mara, unsure. She was fairly certain none of them were zombies…maybe.

“He returns to us the same way life returns to the Steppe—for the souls of our departed return into the newborns we welcome every year. When the warrior is glimpsed in the eyes of a newborn, he is blessed with the same name, that he may grow into a great warrior once more. For what better afterlife could there be but to be a warrior of the Dotharl, once more? What do you say to _that_ , Little Mol?”

Mara was speechless. “It is…not what I was expecting.”

“Indeed, for you were thinking perhaps there was some strange magic, perhaps?” Sadu said with another chuckle. “Maybe an unnatural reason for our strength? Nay—we are warriors, from birth until death. And as we fight now, we have fought hundreds of time before. Battle is in our soul, our blood! And we shall fight on and _never_ run away in order to earn that glorious death!”

 _Funny, they ran away quite fast when I sent the egi after them_ , Mara thought with a raise of her eyebrows. Perhaps not _every_ Dotharl was so eager to rush for that glorious death… “I…see. The Dotharl are most…formidable.”

“Why do you think I let you and that brute of yours come into our home and spy, rather than kill you on the spot?” Sadu said, hands on her hips. “I _want_ you to see. I _want_ you to know what you will face. Perhaps you will think twice before joining the Naadam.”

“Yes, this was…enlightening.” Mara glanced back at Dotharl Khaa. One thing she did notice though—though formidable as the Dotharl warriors were, they were few. The Mol might even be a larger tribe than them. Sheer numbers could possibly overwhelm if needed…though they certainly didn’t have those numbers.

“Now, you can go back to your tribe and report that you shall not find us wanting in the Naadam; our strength will speak for ourselves.”

“One more thing before we go,” asked Mara, glancing back to the desert of Nhaama’s Retreat. “Where is that man—Geser, to be buried? We would say a few words before we go.”

Sadu’s eyebrows rose for a second; eyes narrowing. “Dotharl do not bury our dead. Why would we? The flesh is just a vessel for the soul, and now the soul has departed to become reborn. But if you like, we have left him to the desert. Such is our way. Go say a few words to him if you must; then you may leave in peace. This, I will grant you.”

Mara nodded, saying nothing else. As Mara walked back to find Gosetsu, she saw that little boy again; he sat on his mother’s lap, clutching a wooden toy of a horse as she sang a song for him. So peaceful, so calm; and yet, according to Dotharl ways, that little boy had been a fierce killer, and he would be once again.

It was not hard to find Gosetsu—he stood out in a crowd of Xaela. As Mara led him to the desert, she quickly explained what had been going on. He had looked around, but had seen nothing amiss—“They all seem to train as warriors almost every day, judging by their build,” he had said. “Great variety of weapons, too, no specialty—nothing one could take advantage of that I could see.”

They gathered their horses and rode the short way to the edge of the desert, where the Dotharl had taken Geser’s body. Dismounting his horse, Gosetsu gave a sigh of disgust. “Left for the vultures…it seems like an insult to the man, especially since they claim he was a great warrior.”

Mara shrugged. “The Dotharl do not see the body as important, as they believe the soul lives on.”

“Hmm,” Gosetsu said, kneeling down in the dirt. “So the body is an empty husk that returns to the earth. Seen through those eyes, I suppose it’s almost comforting…With a certain logic to it all.”

As Gosetsu looked at the man, Mara saw something in his eyes, the way they looked at him with such feeling. Perhaps there was another he saw on the face of that corpse. Or many, many others…for Gosetsu had lived a long time, and had seen many deaths, not the least the death of his family at the hand of the Garleans. When Mara looked at Geser, at first, she had seen a dead enemy; safety for others in his death. But now…maybe she could look at him with the smallest of pity. _A great warrior does not deserve to die in the desert to wolves_ , she could agree with, at least.

“As you told me of Dotharl before, I couldn’t help but scoff. ‘Another queer tribe, with queer customs.’ Yet, perhaps, there is some sort of logic to it all. A samurai will die for his lord without hesitation or regret—but unlike these Dotharl, we do not delight in such sacrifice.” Gosetsu sighed, looking up to the sky; the gently reddening, setting sun. “Samurai would give their live for their lord because we have faith that our death will serve a higher purpose. And with that, the soul—our soul—it finds peace. Knowing that with our death, our lord shall live on. I knew one day I would give my life for my lord and yet when the time came with Lord Hien’s father—I failed.” His fingers tensed on the hilt of his katana.

“If you had done so, you would not be here to protect Lord Hien today,” said Mara, quickly—unsure what to say. She had known much had weight on Gosetsu and yet, to hear him say such things out loud—

“Aye, that is true. But After that failure, I resolved myself. When the time comes, I must give my life for Lord Hien. I must—and with that, regain my honor.”

“I am sure Lord Hien would not—”

“He would not want it, I know, but I am resolved. And I am ever a stubborn man.” Gosetsu closed his eyes, smiling. With that, he cracked a laugh. “But I do not mean to die today, nor the next!” Standing up, he turned back to Mara; back to that sun as it set lower and lower in the sky. “Come, we should return. We have friends in chains we needs release.”

Mara nodded. “Yes.”

As the sun set into the beauty of Nhaama’s dusk, they rode back across the desert, back toward the Dawn Throne. They day had been strange. She would never, _ever,_ call herself friend to the Dotharl, but…

Perhaps…she understood them. A bit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see more great ffxiv fic, join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)!


	8. Azim Khaat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Naadam has come...

_Azim Khaat is a small lake at the bottom of the great Dawn Throne. Known for its deep depths and prestigious fishing, Azim Khaat is known as a meeting place for those who live upon the Throne, to seek shelter from the harsh light of day and harsh judgement of their peers…_

_~~~~~_

The day after the Naadam, the sun rose high on the Steppe once more, bathing Nhaama’s realm in shimmering light. Wind raced through the sweeping high grass, brushing in waves like a great, green sea. Though the Naadam had come and gone, the Steppe endured, was ever as it had been; except now the ground was marred with charred grass; the stink of oil.

Mara never thought the Garleans would dare invade here.

The night before the Naadam, she had tossed and turned in her bedroll in her tiny tent in Mol Iloh. Despite it all, nervousness had crept up in her gut. How could Hien possibly think it was going to work? Mara knew the Dotharl, she knew the Oronir, and half a dozen warlike tribe besides. There were too many, too well trained—a few scattered Mol would amount to nothing, even with the Warrior of Light at their side. For though the Warrior of Light worked in miracles, she didn’t’ know how a miracle would match up to common sense.

Despite it, Lord Hien had a plan. As he explained that night as they surrounded the fire; “The Naadam is the greatest prize these tribes can know, yes? They will all fight tooth and nail to claim the oovo. So though we are few, we are all good warriors—we will challenge them where we see them, lead them away from the oovo. Thus, leaving an opening to swoop in and claim it.”

“You mean it as a diversion,” said Mara, seeing the logic in it. “There are so many; how can we possibly fight them all?”

Hien smirked, leaning forward. “Well, if the Warrior of Light can’t manage to take several of them on at once, I don’t see how we’ll be able to,” he chuckled. “We’ll just lead as many away as we can; even better if we can lead several groups into each other. I hear the Dotharl and Oronir have no love lost for each other—what if we set them together upon themselves instead?”

“It will take a lot of planning to make it work,” thought Mara.

“Or, quick thinking in the moment. That will have to be our advantage. Just keep as many of them as you can away from the oovo, and we’ll do the rest.”

So that would have to be that.

As the sun rose on the morning of the Naadam, they were as ready as they could ever be. Hien and Gosetsu had sharpened their swords, Lyse had trained late into the night. But Mara didn’t need any training; grimoire in hand, she could feel the ambient aether around her, ready to use it to intimidate—to rain Hell on any who would dare come close. It was time to show those Dotharl—those Oronir—anyone who doubted her and her powers—what she could _really_ do.

As it began, they flew across the Steppe, cutting their way through the smaller tribes as they made it to the melee before the Dawn Throne. Adarkim and Borlaaq were thrown aside as the two settled into fighting each other instead of the small cohort from the Mol. Hien began in the lead, slashing left and right with his katana, muscles practically rippling in the warm sunlight while Mara tried to pretend she wasn’t looking on. But soon she was preoccupied with more Steppe warriors as they came for her, and she had to unleash her power—the power of Allagan summoning, the Dreadwyrm Trance.

Egis of fire, of earth rose before her, sending out a flurry of flames and rocks. The warriors faltered, stunned by this magic they had never seen. Wreathed in black and blue aether, Mara charged forward, sending ruin and bio and other spells and incantations their way. Puddles of corruption sprouted before their feet, festering and sickening the warriors. Blades of wind sliced through their ranks, scattering them to the wayside. Their energy and aether was sapped, weakening them, sending them to their knees as Mara towered over them, hovering as her power reached its zenith. She had been working with Y’mhitra to reach that final crescent in her power, to summon an egi born of the nascent aether left behind from the dread wyrm Bahamut—but alas, the work was left unfinished.

She could, however, summon a vision of dragon’s wings bursting from her back, as she rose at the height of the trance, looking for all the world like a devil summoned from the void itself. That was enough to send any warrior foolish enough to come her way fleeing in her wake.

She had fought her way to the center, where Hien and Gosetsu were in the melee fighting for the oovo. The Oronir and Dotharl and Buduga were all around, slashing and smashing their way in. Hien was charged by Magnai, Gosetsu and Lyse soon overrun by raging Dotharl—Mara took her chance, summoned an egi if purest wind to push them all back and then—

When the dust settled, there was but one on the oovo. It shimmered and shone bright as the Steppe acknowledged its lord, its ruler; Khagan of all Xaela— _her._

Mara fell to her knees, exhausted as the fighting ceased; the tribes lowering their weapons in disbelief. “The Steppe has spoken,” said Sadu Dotharl, voice thick with spite. “The khagan is…that _Mol_?”

Leaning on his axe, sweat dripping from his brow, Magnai of the Oronir stated, “This is how it ends, I see…” Mara kept her hand on her grimoire, ready to defend herself if any of the defeated thought to challenge Nhaama’s law, the will of the Steppe—but they did not.

“To think I suffered them to live,” Sadu hissed, lowering her rod. “That the Mol were possessed of such strength—you are more than you appear, little one.” She said, nodding in a sort of acknowledgement.

Shakily, Mara got to her feet, watching as all eyes turned to her, staring at her in awe, in respect—their _khagan._

Nhaama preserve, this was not how she expected it to turn out…

After a few minutes, Hien and the rest managed to make their way towards her, looking a bit worse for wear, but mostly unhurt. “We did it!” He said in Doman, near laughing. “Who would have expected this end? Though you were magnificent out there—and perhaps, a little terrifying,” He admitted, nervous grin of his face. Mara blushed at the praise, looking away.

“It was supposed to be you,” Mara said sheepishly, steeping away from the oovo as it shone with light. “I apologize, I should’ve waited for you, but there was an opening and—”

“Do not trouble yourself, you found an opportunity and took it; is that not what we were meant to do?” He said, still smiling, despite it all. “We have won, the _Mol_ have won, and I have kept my promise to Cirina and her people. We have done all we have set to accomplish, save the last task. Now, to see if these Xaela will obey the laws of the Steppe; the law of their khagan—”

But Hien never got a chance to ask, for Magnai of the Oronir suddenly lifted his axe, eyes narrowing on the horizon. “On your guard, Khagan. The wind warns of men in iron.”

Mara turned, gasping as she saw it—Garleans. Garleans, _here,_ in the Steppe—she thought they would never _dare_. Their constructs and machines leaked oil, poisoning the ground, defiling Nhaama’s sacred land, the clink and clanking of their machines a sour sound on the horizon. And at the front of their cohort was a man she was beginning to very much despise—Grynewaht. “Mara Kahkooool!” He roared, leering as they marched forward. “I knew I’d find you here! Dearest of all my enemies! Finally, I get to kill you!” And it if couldn’t get any worse, Grynewaht had pointed right at her, leaving no questions about who he was speaking in Eorzean to.

“ _Kahkol?”_ Mara stiffened up as she heard Sadu say it behind her. “Did he say ‘Kahkol’?” Mara heard the whispers behind her.

Before too many inquires could be made about her true tribe, Hien stepped forward, “Well, seems you have friends in all sorts of places, _khagan._ ” He smirked. “Perhaps the time has come to call upon the strength of the Steppe?”

Mara’s hands had clenched on her grimoire. She wasn’t used to this sort of thing. She never thought of herself as a leader—a ruler of men. She left that to others, more politically savvy, to take charge and give the orders…But the Steppe had spoken, she was _khagan_ , and (the language barrier notwithstanding on Hien’s part) it was _her_ time to lead.

Turning back, head held high, Mara spoke to the warriors surrounding her. “The stranger has come for me, aye, but he invades the sacred ground of the Steppe! I may be Kahkol, but by will or chance, Nhaama has chosen _me_ as your khagan. Warriors of the Steppe, will you stand by me? Will you drive out these invaders of our land?”

There was silence. For a moment, Mara feared—this wasn’t her thing, this wasn’t her place, perhaps they wouldn’t accept it, perhaps they wouldn’t accept _her_ , perhaps—And then Magnai Oronir lifted his axe, pointing it at the Garleans as they marched forward. “You forget to whom you speak. The Sun shall abide by the law of the Steppe—the law of the khagan. Perhaps they will be better sport.”

“And the Dotharl fear no man, not even clad in iron!” agreed Sadu Dotharl, smirking as she raised her rod. “Let us see if the Sun can keep up, then!”

One by one, the warriors readied their weapons, readied to fight—all at her command.

And so, turning back to the Garleans, with the whole of the Steppe at her back—Mara gave it.

But afterwards, after the Garleans were soundly defeated, had turned tail and ran, there were negotiations to be made. Cirina and Hien had to rally the rest of the Xaela to their cause, the Mol had to negotiate the conditions of their victory, of their new role as leaders of the Steppe—and though Mara made it clear it was the will of the khagan to fight for Doma, she did not wish to be part of the talks.

No for now, she just wanted to rest—rest, and take stock of what happened.

At least, she wasn’t alone in her need to reflect.

“Who would’ve thought,” Ambagai smirked as they sat on the banks of Azim Khaat, in the shadow of the Dawn Throne. “Little Mara Kahkol—Khagan of all Xaela.”

“It wasn’t supposed to end up this way,” said Mara, knees pulled up to her chest. In truth, she didn’t feel like a khagan at all—what kind of leader could she be, if she had to leave for Doma as soon as negotiations were concluded? “I don’t know why the Steppe choose me. It just…did.”

“Nhaama knows more than we can ever hope to understand,” Ambagai laughed, looking up to the Dawn Throne high above. “After all, she choose the Oronir the last two years. Why would she put so much stock in the Sun before throwing him to the wayside this year?”

“It makes sense for a strong tribe to lead the Steppe, however annoying the leaders are. For Nhaama to choose the Mol—or Kahkol—it’s unthinkable for some.”

“Unthinkable, but they will obey. The Steppe’s will is law, as is the khagan’s will.” He said, nodding to her. “So, what will you do with your newfound power?”

Mara shook her head. “Nothing. The Steppe was taken for the Mol, and the Mol shall have it. My only influence here is helping Lord Hien get what he needs to liberate Doma—that is all.”

“True, but there are certain benefits,” Ambagai plucked a dandelion from the grass, letting it float on the breeze. “Now that everyone knows their khagan is Kahkol, things might be a bit easier for them, after all. Who would want to cross a tribe protected by the fiercest, most terrifying warrior on the Steppe.”

Mara made a face; Hien had said something similar. “Was I really that terrifying?”

Ambagai chuckled. “Mara, I saw several Buduga that slaughtered our tribe without a second thought turn tail and run as fast as they could away from you. You looked like a creature brought forth from nightmares—I expect you will appear in some of theirs, I daresay.” He continued to laugh as Mara buried her face in her hands. “But don’t fret. If anyone thought you weren’t worthy to be a warrior before, they certainly are backtracking now. I always wondered, but you were right to leave here, I think. That power you found in Eorzea is no ordinary magic, and clearly only _you_ can wield it.”

Watching the lake water as the wind blew tiny waves across the surface, Mara said, “If I had known this power before, maybe I wouldn’t have left…”

“Yes you would have,” Ambagai said, looking at her with certainty in his eyes. “You were never meant to stay here, Mara. You would not have been happy. You’re not the same woman you were the day you left here; you’ve blossomed over the years into who you were always meant to be. And I’m glad of it—your happiness is all I ever wanted.”

Mara gave a soft smile, with a tiny pang of regret in her gut—she always did feel bad about how things were left between them. Even now, she still wasn’t very good at rejecting people if the subject came up. Lord Aymeric had invited her to a dinner at his manor, and afterwards had taken her on a walk through the majestic pillars—only for her to stop him before he want to far; beg him not to ask of her what he clearly wanted to ask. Though guilt had gripped her for it, Lord Aymeric had only smiled, and replied that she would ever be a friend to Ishgard, and a good friend to him, if that’s what she wished. He never spoke another word on the matter, but she couldn’t help but feel it every time she saw him, knowing she had to break his heart. Thankfully matters with Lord Hien would not ever progress to such a thing.

For every man she had met had always wanted a vision of her, a _part_ of her, the part they saw in turn—“Warrior,” the people called her, seeing Hydaelyn’s tool, the Champion of Eorzea, or “Mara Kahkol,” the girl form the Kahkol tribe who had big dreams—no one had ever looked past the surface, had seen the real Mara, the _true_ Mara—had seen her as warrior and woman both, had reached into those depths and accepted her for it, _loved_ her for it—no one ever had, except…

Ruby eyes flashed in her mind.

“I have duties in Eorzea to attend to before I can worry about my happiness,” Mara said, simply. “And I have to get back to them soon.”

“I know,” said Ambagai. “And you aren’t the only one who will have to travel soon. I have spoken to the others; Yabuqa and Chihui—we are in agreement. The khan of the Buduga was wounded in battle, the rest of the Buduga are in disarray—now is the time for us to take flight, to reclaim our freedom.”

“You would desert?” Mara gasped. “But surely the Buduga will—where will you go to escape them?”

Ambagai only smiled, “I suppose I will need a new tribe, a tribe that takes in those with no where else to go; perhaps you could recommend one?”

Mara smiled, bright as a setting sun. “Look after Kahkol for me, please? They need a strong leader now, more than ever. That leader is you.”

He sighed, smiling fading. “I led them only to ruin once before…I could not save them when the time came…”

“Ah, but now you have the protection of the khagan, do you not?” Mara winked. “You said it yourself that no one would dare attack the Kahkol now.”

Ambagai shook his head. “That doesn’t mean I feel like I am capable…But if the khagan wishes it, well, who am I to deny her?” He shrugged, looking out to the horizon—out across the Steppe, where Kahkol Iloh lay. “I will do everything in my power to protect them, to restore Kahkol to the way it was, you have my word.”

Mara took Amabgai’s hands in hers. “Nhaama bless you, Ambagai.”

“And also you, wherever you go,” he replied, giving them a little squeeze. Standing up, he stretched, looking back up at the Dawn Throne. “Can’t say I’ll miss this place, too high up and overbearing,” he chuckled.

“The view is nice, though,” said Mara, standing up as well, before flicking a rock in the lake, watching it bounce across.

“True.” Turning back, Ambagai gave her a smile. “One last thing…That man you spoke of, the one who taught you to smile…I think you’ll see him again.”

Mara blinked, wondering what brought this on. Shaking her head, she began, “Ambagai, no, you don’t understand—he’s _gone,_ and I’ll never—”

“Yes, you say that, but I think you will.”

“Oh? And _why_ is that?”

“Because it’s you.” With one last wave and a smile, her childhood friend, her once-rival left her standing there, stupefied.

Mara watched him go, walking off to the egress in the heart of the Dawn Throne, mulling his words in her mind. _“Because it’s you._ ” What in the world did that mean? 

He was wrong of course, but…

She couldn’t deny that sometimes, she wished it were true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see more great ffxiv fic, join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)!


	9. Doma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A time for partings.

_Doma proper is a beautiful land, filled with deep rivers, wide valleys, towering cliffs. But what towers over all is the beautiful, intricate Doma Castle—lording over its land from its curved roof towers, demanding subservience to its majesty…_

_~~~~~_

The Warrior of Light was ever an enigma, a creature powerful enough to topple empires, slay gods, to crush armies—to work miracles that no one thought possible. But the gods asked for a heavy price for these miracles, and that price meant that all too often, the Warrior must watch as the bill came due; as the Twelve took those she cared about, one by one, in payment for her power.

And every time, she was powerless to stop it.

When the dust settled, when Mara realized that somehow, the room they were in was still standing, Doma Castle had not yet fallen, they were still alive—the relief turned to horror as they all saw _why_ they were still standing; Gosetsu stood in the middle of the room, muscles straining with the effort, as he held up the tall, intricately carved ceiling.

“No…” Mara breathed out, heart plunging in her chest, realizing the bill had come once more.

“Go, my lord!” Gosetsu called out to Lord Hien, sweat building on his brow. “Go while you still can! I cannot hold this forever!”

At Mara’s side, Yugiri gasped, shaking her head in horror. “No, we won’t! We won’t leave you behind! We will—”

Gosetsu turned to her, eyes hard. “Yes, you will,” he said through shaking breaths, steadying himself on strong feet. “Do your duty! Your duty as a shinobi of Doma! Deliver Lord Hien and the others to safety. Now, quickly! I shall—” He grunted, his grip momentarily slipping—there was a crumble and a shake as pieces of the heavy plaster clattered off around them. “I shall manage on my own!”

Another groan from overhead—they were running out of time, they were running out of time, the smart thing to do would be to agree to Goesetsu’s request—and yet—“We can’t leave you behind!” said Mara, glancing back at Yugiri. Maybe…maybe… ”If there’s a way, we will…”

But whatever she might have planned, as her mind raced, all was cut short; the world stopped spinning around them as the cracks rang out—

_Bang! Bang!_

Mara’s mouth fell open in horror, a rush of cold sweat—bile rose in her throat as she looked on and saw a smoking gun in Yotsuyu’s hands…she thought Yotsuyu incapacitated, they all did, but as Gosetsu coughed; droplets of blood flowed from his throat, the overwhelming _guilt_ and _horror_ grew—her hands shook, her eyes welled up as she realized _this was her fault, she could’ve stopped this, if only she hadn’t assumed—had acted quicker than—_

“Gosetsu!” Yugiri cried out, reaching for him, but her hand fell short as tears spilled from her eyes. “Don’t—we will…”

There was another sickening _clack, clack._ Yotsuyu continued to pull the trigger, again and again and again, before looking up at the old samurai with a _fury._ “No, you won’t…none of you will leave here, not one!” A horrific smile grew on her face before she collapsed back down onto her elbows; Hien’s blow still did some damage, but not enough…not enough…

Despite it all, Gosetsu looked at them, smiling even as a thin dribble of blood fell from his lips. “Do not trouble yourselves,” he said in a gravely, wavering voice. “’Tis naught this old frame cannot bear.”

Mara shook her head, hands near covering her mouth as the urge to be sick rose up in her throat. “No, Goestsu, please…”

But he shook his head. “Go now, all of you! The day is won, and the morrow beckons!”

Mara had only known the old samurai for a short time, but in that time, she had come to understand him—a man who had given everything, even the lives of his family, in service to his country, to his lord. He deserved to see a new dawn; his country freed, to hold to the promises he made to his lost loved ones. He didn’t deserve this—not this! “You need to come too!” She begged, reaching out, as if to heal him of his wounds. “You will see that morrow as well! This isn’t over, Goestsu, not for you! I will—”

“Mara,” he said softly—cut her off with the simple invocation of her name. She froze, eyes wet with unfallen tears. “Do you remember what I said, that day when we visited the Dotharl?”

Her breath caught in her throat. _“Samurai would give their live for their lord because we have faith that our death will serve a higher purpose. And with that, the soul—our soul—it finds peace.”_ She shook her head still, even as she felt Yugiri’s hand on her shoulder, trying to pull her away. Slowly, Mara lowed her head, failing to keep the tears at bay. She nodded, and with it, Gosetsu gave a soft sigh—a soft smile.

“Then understand this; you must allow me to do this. For this was the purpose I have lived for so long—I am at peace. _You_ must be at peace with it.”

Another rumble overhead; more plaster clattered to the floor. They had no time, no time now, they’d have to leave, but—

Even as Yugiri pulled Mara away, Hien stepped forward; looked the man in the eyes. For all his strength as Lord of Doma, for all the bluster he had shown in the Azim Steppe—Mara could see it in the way that his fingers tensed on the hilt of his katana, the way he clenched his teeth. He was barely holding it together. “Gosetsu. I…Know that you have never failed me, not once. You served my father faithfully, and I am a better man for your guidance. And the Doma we will build shall be better for it; because of _you._ Be proud of it, my friend, and know that I shall build the Doma we always dreamed of.”

Gosetsu’s eyes sparkled and she sighed, closing his eyes. “I am so proud, Shun. More than you can know…and I thank you.”

The moment was broken as Gosetsu gasped; clenched his teeth—the celling he held up was beginning to sink. “We must flee!” Yugiri cried out, pulling Mara to the open window—where their yol were already waiting. “My Lord!” she called out behind them—Hien was frozen in place, staring at Gosetsu, his hand closed into a fist. “ _My Lord!”_ Yugiri screamed again, as Mara reluctantly mounted the yol—Hien was coming too, wasn’t he? He couldn’t possibly…

Hien said something to Gosetsu, something so soft that Mara’s horns could not pick it up—whatever it was, she was not meant to hear. And then Lord Hien came running, leaping onto his yol in one graceful movement.

They had barely cleared the air as it all came down—the heavy tower sank in on itself, down, down…down into the flowing waters. Yugiri softly cried into the yol’s feathers, Mara felt a few tears fall as well, and Hien…he stared at the fallen castle looking for all the world as if a part of himself had died.

Maybe it had.

_~~~~~_

The Doman Enclave had been battered and ruined in the time since the Doman Rebellion. What had once been houses, wide streets were now covered in fallen stones, weeded over paths. It would take a lot of work to rebuild, to bring life back into Doma as it once was…but the Doman people were nothing if not hardy, if not willing. They had faced so much these past twenty-five years, and yet here they stood; triumphant— _free._

“We shall rise up, rebuild our homeland,” Hien had said, and he had said it so sincerely that all had cheered—his people were ready, willing to get to the hard work of rebuilding a country so torn apart by war and occupation. It was inspiring, watching them cheering in their freedom, then immediately setting to the tasks that needed doing. Rebuilding a country was no simple task; Mara had seen the efforts Lord Aymeric had gone to in Ishgard, and that country had been mostly intact after the war—externally, anyway. As Aymeric had put it, “There will always be people that miss the old days, that think things were better before we changed the whole system.”

Would it be so in Doma? Mara was sure there were some Imperial sympathizers who knew they had it better before Hien took charge. Some might be tried for their crimes; some might lose that wealth they hoarded under occupation. Some might start trouble…but Mara was sure that Hien, and the people he called to his aid, could handle it. The Domans as a whole embraced this new change, for they had never dared to hope it might come for so long.

For as happy as they were in Doma’s freedom, Alphinaud, Alisaie, and especially Lyse, were eager to get back to Eorzea and begin the process anew in Ala Mhigo. “With Doma freed, the Imperials will have a crisis on their hands once we start pushing back in Gyr Abania,” said Lyse, looking toward the west—toward her homeland. “We best start soon.”

Mara nodded, “Would not do to linger in Othard, either—we need to catch them unawares.”

“All agreed, then?” said Alphinaud. “Good, then let’s see if our new allies the Confederacy would be so kind as to give us a ride back to Kugane. I daresay it’ll be faster than making our way back through Yanxia ourselves.”

Mara blinked; raised her eyebrows. “You go to ask them yourself?”

Alphinaud sputtered, standing up straighter. “I’ll have you know that I spent my time in the House of the Fierce while you all were gallivanting around the Azim Steppe learning Doman, thank you very much. I think I should know enough by now to ask—”

Alisaie burst out laughing, holding her sides. “You learned mayhap five phrases, and you use them _awfully,_ I think!”

“ _Alisaie that—that is—!”_ Alphinaud sputtered, red faced, looking back at Mara abashedly.

She only chuckled, shook her head. “Confederates speak Hingan, anyway. It is similar to Doman but not as enough for you to understand. I’ll do it.”

As she waved them off, Mara walked down to the Doman Enclave docks, where several ships of the Confederacy sat, sails unfurled, ready to get underway. Perhaps it was taking a bit of their friendship for granted, but well…without her, the Confederacy would still be dealing with Imperials running their blockades. Might as well call upon the perks.

Walking down the stone steps, she heard someone call out behind her, “Leaving so soon, are you?”

Mara turned; Lord Hien stood there, leaning against the wall, soft smile on his face.

This was the first time she had been alone with him in quite a while… _Stop that!_ She told her silly, fluttering heart. She prayed to Nhaama she wasn’t blushing… “We have to get back to Gyr Abania—Lyse’s homeland,” she said quickly, shuffling onto her backfoot. “With Doma freed, the empire will be in a bit of disarray. Now is the time to strike.”

“And so you should! The more that are freed, the weaker the empire becomes, and the less likely they will be to strike back against us. Indeed, their distractions here in Othard are sure to work in your favor.”

Mara sputtered, glancing away. Why did he have to _smile_ like that— “It wasn’t—it was not like we were using Doma’s freedom for our own purposes!”

Hien threw back his head and laughed. “Oh, I know that. But I also know you have other places you have to be; other commitments to attend to. In truth, I am glad you came here all the same. Without your assistance, we could’ve never done this; could’ve never won Doma’s freedom.” He paused for a moment, looking back out to the flowing waters of the One River. His smile faded. “I’m sorry I just wish…I wish Gosetsu could’ve seen it.”

Sighing, Mara reached out—took one of his hands. It was an intimate gesture, perhaps _too_ intimate, but…” He saw you win the day; he knows Doma is now free. And he…he would not have done as he did if he did not trust that you would honor your promise…to build the Doma he desired.”

Hien nodded, still looking at the river, though he did not remove his hand. “Right before the end I felt I had to say something; to get it out before…” He swallowed a moment, before turning back to her. “I told him that ever since my father had died, he had been as a father to me, and I was glad of it…glad that I made him proud, in the end. I…I hope that was enough.”

“It was,” said Mara, softly. “I am sure of it.”

They stood in silence for a while, and she slowly let go of his hand. Turning away from the river, Hien smiled and said, “Well, I hope he is watching over; will see what becomes of us. I hope he is happy, wherever he is. But those of us left behind have other matters to see to, do we not?” He chuckled, “Especially you, I imagine. Yugiri told me the Eorzeans call you a “Warrior of Light,” and I couldn’t agree more—a finer warrior I have never seen, and a bringer of hope, a beacon of light besides.”

Mara let out a slow breath. Ah, yes, there it was. There it _always_ was…For she was the Warrior of Light now to him, and she could never be anything else. She had known it from the first, of course. She remembered his words he had said to her at the Naadam—how she was a fierce warrior, but “a little terrifying.” That was all he would ever see, now.

That was all anyone ever saw.

But Mara looked back up at Hien, gave him a smile, hollow as it was. “I am glad for you, and your people, Lord Hien,” she said softly, admiring the softness of his face, the squareness of his jaw (not to mention how well-built the rest of him was…) one last time. “Your people love you, and they will help you rebuild. I look forward to seeing the country you will make, someday.”

“As I said before, it could not have been made without you. You shall always be welcome in Doma—though I hope you won’t wait too long before coming back, hmm?”

“I hope not, as well.” And for that, she was sincere—when she first left the Steppe, first left Othard, she thought she would never return; how could she, when she had given everything to come to the west? To learn of the primal magic she sought? But now…now…she wanted to return, someday. To see how Kahkol would rebuild. To see what Doma might become. Perhaps even to visit the Ruby Sea once more, to enjoy the clear waters and white beaches…maybe someday, a long time away, maybe with someone else in tow…

Well, that last thought was probably a hopeless wish, but nonetheless…

“Then, best be on your way! That way you can come back all the faster!” And so, with laughter and all smiles, Lord Hien waved her off. As they departed on Confederate ships for Kugane, he stood there, Yugiri, and many others at their side, thanking them for their part in their freedom.

Mara did feel a little melancholy at their parting—she had known it was coming, but it stung a bit, all the same. She ran her thumb over her bare collarbone for a moment, where her mother’s necklace had once lay, drawing upon it, wherever it was, for a spark of courage.

The battle was over, but the war was far from won.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you want to see more great ffxiv fic, join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic)!


	10. Kugane, Reprise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last night in Kugane before it's time to return home, to Eorzea.

_The wonders of the east are numerous and breathtaking, but there’s nothing like heading back, back through the port of Kugane to return home. For what makes homecoming all the sweeter, is knowing what you have seen, and taking those memories back for a new beginning…_

_~~~~~_

Tataru was thrilled with the news they brought back from Doma, and all were settled nicely on cloud nine after their triumph against the Imperials. The day was over, the battle was won, Doma was free, and (most importantly) the Garleans were on the backfoot. They were sure to start mobilizing against Doma soon, but if the attack on Ala Mhigo came swift enough, hard enough, they would be trapped, with half their forces in the east and half in the west. Thus their long, convoluted plan would finally come to fruition, and it was the chance of a lifetime to strike a permanent blow against the empire; to free another nation.

The chance would not come again.

Lyse was near bursting after being told they had to wait one more day in Kugane before they would depart. “I’m sorry, but setting up passage back to Eorzea isn’t the easiest thing to do in an instant!” Tataru had chided her, near shoving them out the East Aldernard Trading Company doors. “Have some patience!”

“It is to be your last day in Kugane, after all,” said Hancock, smiling in that whimsical way of his. “Why not enjoy yourself a bit more? When will you have another chance to settle down, to relax? Take some time tonight, enjoy the splendor and the majesty of the east for one moment longer, before you return home to the fight, hmm?”

Lyse didn’t take that well at _all_ , but Alisaie had laughed, patting her shoulder. “Come on, Lyse. Why don’t we have a little sparring match, instead if all you’re going to do is mope? Then after we’re all well and trained, we can have a little dip in the Bokairo Inn hot spring! How does that sound?”

After some grumbling, Lyse decided she would like _that_ very much.

Tataru and Alphinaud decided to spend the remaining time attending to some Scion business…whether it was monetary or political, Mara didn’t ask, and she didn’t _want_ to ask. She was never one for boring reports, stuffy meetings…though she wasn’t sure if she wanted to join Lyse or Alisaie, either. A lot had happened since she came to the East—she had meetings, partings, she had seen her homeland once more, and had somehow left on good terms (and, uh, as khagan—she still hadn’t _quite_ processed that development). For the moment she just wanted to…breathe. Enjoy it? Perhaps…as much as she was able.

She walked along the streets, along the square in front of Tenkonto, near the Umineko Teahouse. In the distance, behind the towering Shiokaze Hostelry, she could see the water, lapping softly at the docks. The water felt comforting, soothing—like a warm welcome. Limsa Lominsa had been surrounded by such waters, and she had spent much of her time while studying at the Arcanist guild walking along Limsa Lominsa’s lower decks, gazing at the water.

She blinked, stopping in her tracks, pausing a moment. How long had it been since the water felt like home, moreso than the rolling plains she had grown up with?

She had certainly changed from the girl that journeyed from the Azim Steppe for the first time—naïve she had been, seeking power to solve all her problems, not knowing that that strength she sought would come with so much more…she had seen many things in her time, had traveled the world, now, and yet, life was so much simpler in the Steppe. Back when her greatest worry was not becoming a Steppe warrior as she wished…

But she could’ve never lived that simple of a life, she knew that now. It was good that she got to go back, for a time—see the fate of the Kahkol, finally get some sort of resolution with Ambagai…now she knew the Kahkol would be all right, in time. They would need time, but she was certain they would rebuild. They would thrive. And though she would call herself Kahkol forevermore, she found that she was so different from Kahkol, now…she didn’t belong there, not anymore.

Now she belonged across the sea, back in Eorzea.

Looking back, Mara spotted a couple sitting on one of the benches at the Umineko Teahouse. A woman in a pink kimono sat under the shade of a red parasol, a tall hyur by her side. They shared sticks of dango, laughing at some secret joke. She leaned in as he pressed a soft kiss to her forehead, looking as if they were in their own little world; the rest of Kugane fell away for them, and the only people they saw were each other.

With a small pang of her heart, Mara remembered that feeling, she had felt it once, almost two years ago…

_The star stopped spinning, the heavens stalled overhead as his fingers cupped her chin, tipping her head up to cover her mouth with his._

Clenching her teeth, she looked away. _No!_ How many times would she have to remind herself? She should just forget about him, forget all that ever happened, for he had been so quick to throw it all away, why should she bother giving it a second thought? It was nothing, in the end—she had been _nothing_ to him. It was no better than her relationship with Hien now, and even though Mara had known from the start that her little crush on Lord Hien would never go anywhere, at least he hadn’t put her through _that_.

At least she had known well enough this time to guard her feelings; keep them close. There was no point in indulging them if she would just get hurt in the end. Even now, years later, it still ached—still sent her thoughts reeling.

She stopped, walking over the Tasogare Bridge, looking back toward Kugane Castle, away from that water that beckoned her. This city was beautiful, with sloping tiled roofs and lacquered wood. The towers pointed to the sky, shimmering gold on varnished black wood; opulent, breathtaking. In the gentle sunset, the gold glistened red, everything was red, much like…

_Crimson eyes, gazing back at her, holding so much emotion, so much care, that she believed—_

Clenching her fists, Mara turned away from that view.

She would never escape him, no matter how far she went. But if she had to hate him to move on, keep putting one foot in front of the other, then so be it.

The Kugane Dori markets were bustling in the evenings, as shopkeepers began to turn on their paper lanterns. Mara walked along, browsing the stalls, every now again stopping to gaze at the exotic wares they offered; paper parasols, dyed gold and red and deepest violet, soft silks—beautiful patterned kimonos. Fine lacquered wood furniture, elegantly carved and decorated with gold leaf. Katanas and sharp knives and deadly spears. Books, ancient scrolls, all sorts of knowledge, piled high (Mara spent a good deal of time at _that_ booth.) Sake and plum wine, dried fish and sweet pork buns; spices and flowers and evaporated sea salt. A Xaela merchant, offering kumis and Steppe wool and gulo hides, that looked at her wide-eyed and panicked as she walked by (perhaps he had been there at the Naadam?) So many things, so little time—Mara wandered along, her old merchant ways feeling at home at the markets, one last time.

“Fine jewelry!” A portly hyur man called out, from a stall crowded by giggling girls. “Hair ornaments, perhaps a necklace for your beloved? Earrings and baubles imported from Doma, the Ruby Sea!”

The giggling gears were trying on various hair pins, made of silk flowers and jewels, and Mara paused at the selection. She had no need of baubles, but she had not heard of Doma being proficient at jewelry in all her time there…perhaps they were war spoils? If so, she might want to drop a line to Hien that his people’s wealth was being sold in Kugane…

Too late, the merchant spotted her. “Ah, how are you this fine night, Miss? Care for a trinket? Perhaps some new earrings to adorn your ears… _horns_ ,” he amended quickly, not the least bit embarrassed. “Come now, I have the finest from across the sea—"

Mara raised her hands. “Um, thank you, no I don’t—”

“Don’t be shy! Have a look? I can answer any questions, if you like—”

Mara didn’t bother to look down at the pieces spread out on the black cloth before him, only continued to look the man in his eyes. “I _was_ wondering where you get the pieces you claim from Doma. I wasn’t aware Doma had much of a jewelry industry at _all._ ”

The man only laughed. “Aye, these days, but they used to, before the empire annexed them. They were known far and wide for fine Yanxian jade! Of course, most of what I have now comes secondhand, but its all beautiful, wouldn’t you agree?”

Mara shook her head, turning away slightly, “I don’t…” And then she paused—froze, her breath caught in her throat.

The man’s puffy, jeweled hand waved across his selection, and indeed, it was a fine selection of jade, but something caught Mara’s eye. Far, at the end of the row, almost out of sight, washed out from the beauty of the other, finer pieces.

_It can’t be._

Dazed, as if in a dream, she reached for it; a carved, jade pendant, that fit perfectly in her hand. The carving was intricate, not of the flowing, smooth lines of Doma, but the sharp, precise art of the Azim Steppe; of the Xaela…a Xaela engagement necklace.

Her _mother’s_ necklace.

As Mara stood, stunned, the man smiled, “Oh, that necklace, hmm? It is a bit simpler than most of what I have…fine Yanxian jade, though.”

“Yes…” she breathed, rubbing her thumb over the carving; it felt just as she remembered. How could he have possibly found it? She thought it lost forever, and now… “I’ll take it,” she said, reaching for her gil purse.

“Of course, but a necklace without an accessory is rather mismatched, wouldn’t you agree? I have these lovely jade rings and—”

“ _Here.”_ Mara shoved the gold into his hands, probably more than it was worth, but she didn’t care at that point. She fastened it around her neck, feeling the cool, smooth jade bump up against her breastbone—right where it belonged.

As she walked away, she heard the merchant call back, “Wait, miss, this is—Don’t you have any Hingan coins?” But she disappeared into the crowd, leaving him to deal with coin exchange.

She didn’t want to waste another second thinking on it, not one, not when…

Back on the Tasogare Bridge, her hand curled around the jade pendant, feeling the weight in her hand, the _rightness_ of it. It was home, _she_ was home. When she had first sold it, she was terrified, like a piece of her was missing. Perhaps a piece was, but not in the way she had thought. She had gotten on without it, did not need its comfort to do what must be done, but still…

 _As far as I go, I cannot forget where I came from…so I can continue to keep going, with no looking back._ She knew that now, without a doubt. She had never abandoned the Steppe, just moved on—she would carry a part of the Steppe with her, wherever she went. She need not feel guilty for it; for she was a traveler and traveler she would be—it would make coming back all the sweeter, but as for now…

She smiled, looking at the sea before her—the sea that would take her to Eorzea once more. The sun sunk low on the horizon, scattering glittering gold sunbeams across the waves. Mara closed her eyes, remembering the words she had said those years ago, as she first stepped across a gangplank to the ship that would take her beyond the sea.

_At last…to Eorzea…_

_From my old home, to my new._

**Author's Note:**

> Join our [bookclub](https://discord.gg/enabling-debauched-xivfic) for more fic and general debauchery.


End file.
